Hidden Spark (Dark Magic Enforcer Book 6) (3 page)

It always makes me nervous when I have an even slightly personal conversation with Madge. Normally it's grunts and insults, but she was concerned for me beneath the veneer, and this was her way of showing it.

I splashed milk into a mug that looked like it was less than a decade old—only a few chips—and ignored the random brown lumps in the sugar bowl, telling myself it was just bits of toast and not anything contagious, then added three sugars just for the hell of it.

Carrying my tea over to an empty table, no need to worry about sloshing it—you could tip it upside down and it would take an hour to crawl out—I sat at a rickety chair, leaned back, put my hands behind my head and relaxed for the first time in a very long while.

Half an hour later I was out the door, having waved away those that came to chat, saying I would look them up soon. As I made my way to the car, I thought better of it and turned right back around, popped my head back inside and said, "Mithnite, you grumpy sod, fancy a drive?"

He looked up from where he was staring blankly at the dirty tablecloth, the slightest hint of shock on his face. "Me? Really?"

"Don't see anyone else called Mithnite looking suicidal. Come on, hurry up."

Two minutes later he was in the car, crying, and I was heading to see Dancer, not sure why I'd decided it was a good idea to take the damaged young man with me.

As I drove, it dawned on me that I hadn't even paid. Damn, that was twice in a lifetime now. Madge really was a kindhearted woman underneath the moody witch act I was never sure was genuine or just part of what she felt made the place special.

Honestly, people come from far and wide to be insulted by Madge. She's a true artist.

Doing it Properly

Dancer. Necromancer, friend—who would have thought it?—saver of my soul in Tokyo, and a man who had been a fraud for most of the time I'd known him, was now Head of the UK Hidden Council. With Rikka gone, all the old Head's assets had been stripped, sold off, and in a rather surprising turn of events the cash given to Dancer.

Maybe they wanted to ensure he focused on the job, or maybe he insisted on it. Either way, he'd spent wisely, cleaned up the city, and had gained the respect of the numerous Hidden communities—most of them, anyway. The vampires are reluctant members and hate being told what to do, so no change there.

A man I once believed to be maybe a few hundred years old turned out to be an ancient, nine-hundred-year-old Romanian Gypsy and had been lying low in the UK while some business that went awry abroad got forgotten in the passage of time.

He wasn't lying low now. He was very rich, very much in charge, and extremely good at his job. We'd kept in touch, spoken regularly, but I hadn't seen him much in the intervening years. I'd heard all about how he was getting on, both from him, Kate, Grandma, and a few others, and he'd taken to it like a faery to antipasto.

Getting to know him, the real him, in Japan, had been an eye-opener. I'd always known there was something a little off about him, believing just that he was a bit of a dick, and although he still was, he was also a genuine guy, even if he had me fooled about his true identity for so long. Now he required my services, and I was happy to oblige. In fact, I couldn't wait to oblige.

The thought of magic sent my nerves tingling and as I drove through the early morning commuter traffic of Cardiff—watching people already walking listlessly, no doubt complaining about the heat even though they'd moaned about the cold for most of the year—I almost reached for the Empty and let it inside of me. But I resisted, knowing I should wait. I had no doubt it would come when I called, and like anticipating a meeting with a secret lover, I let the tension and excitement build until I was about ready to explode by the time I got to Council HQ.

I'd never been to the new place. Rikka had set up in a gym, Dancer did things a little more conservatively, more in line with what you'd expect a Hidden Council for supernatural beings and humans adept with magic to use as their place for business. I was impressed.

Dancer was a cautious man, always had been, and that hadn't changed. He'd set up the Council HQ behind a base of strong magic, a doorway that only those adept with magic could ever hope to enter. It kept our business safe from Regulars, meant he could have the wards and protective spells changed by a few resident wizards at a moment's notice, and allowed him to have some fun at the same time.

I parked up on a side street once I found a space, then followed the directions I'd been given when he first got the portal activated.

What to do with Mithnite? The poor kid was a mess, smelled bad, clearly hadn't been doing well, and it was hardly surprising. I'd heard all about what went down, but hadn't paid it the attention that maybe I should have, assuming he had somebody to care for him, or that he'd be fine on his own. The truth couldn't have been more different.

He was quiet, didn't say much, but I knew I'd get it out of him when he was good and ready. For now, he just needed a buddy, to know somebody cared.

Mind made up, I said, "Look, I have a job. I'm back in the game and Dancer, he wants me to do something for the dwarves."

"Cool, and I can come? I can help you out. This will be great."

"Whoa there, cowboy, let's not get carried away." Poor kid looked so excited I had to change my plans instantly, and maybe it would do him good, get a taste of the reality of this game. Maybe it would make him choose a different career path, one that didn't involve the constant threat of violence.

I could see it in him, see that he wanted to be an enforcer, and boy was he in for a rude awakening if he ever went down that path. So, rather than make him wait in the car, I said, "Come on, but do as you're told, and keep quiet. This is serious, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Spark."

A minute later and we were standing outside the tiny door of a small terraced house. My heart stuttered as I opened myself up to the Empty and let just a slender touch of magic caress my ink, swelling it gently, languidly, feeling me out, checking I was open to its embrace.

I was more than willing. I was desperate for it. As power surged through my body and my chakras sighed with contentment, the magic I contained unlocked the door and with a step over a shimmering threshold I entered another place entirely. Mithnite, doing as I directed, came in right behind me.

"Awesome."

"Quiet. You have to act like it's no big deal, like you do this kind of thing every day. Be cool, like a frost giant in your freezer."

"Have you been peeking?" asked Mithnite, looking freaked.

"What!? No. You haven't, have you?"

"Haha, got you, Spark."

"Oh, right. Good one." Damn, but he was reminding me more of myself by the minute. Meaning, he was gonna be trouble.

We stepped out the way as a troll came marching toward us then out the portal without even pausing. I'm not sure how this kind of magic works, nobody is. It goes beyond time and space and the physical world as we know it. I guess you could call it another dimension or something else that doesn't really do it justice and is simply us trying to explain away the unexplainable.

The few deft wizards able to create such transport routes study the magic their whole lives yet never find an answer to how, or where, or even why it works, just know that it can be done. So I stepped out of one world and into another, confident I'd still be me and not just goop. The best I've had it described to me is that we were still in Wales, right where we'd been, but in a place designed and constructed in the gaps between the many realities.

A static location yet not actually where you think it is. And this is one of the many reasons why I can't stand to think about this stuff. Why everyone doesn't just admit it's magic and we don't know how it works is beyond me, but there you go, that's humans for you. And wizards are the worst for trying to decipher their work when they should just go back to their pipes and lamenting the old days when you could wear robes and have a long beard and not be accused of being a hippy, or worse, a hipster.

Anyway, wherever we were, it was in a large lobby the other side of what was now an impressive, double door entrance, the wood carved to within an inch of its life. Runes and glyphs and all that good stuff very much in evidence. I was tempted to take a peek outside but was told that wouldn't be a good idea. Never open the door, just step up to it and pray magic is still a thing.

Wizards rushed past, in and out of rooms, up and down a wide, sweeping staircase, gleaming balustrade looking perfect for taking a ride down from the top. A number of trolls stood outside closed doors, doing what they did best, which was looking like trolls.

A couple of gremlins were busy arguing over a piece of paper they kept snatching from each other, talking in a language impossible to understand, and there were more shifters than I'd expected, shimmery glimpses of their animal nature overlaying their human form for a split-second, which was a new experience for me.

I caught sight of a retreating rear, two bowling balls wrapped in tight black denim, bringing back memories of a dead friend. I had to remind myself it wasn't Plum, but her cousin, Persimmon, just as beautiful and just as tough. Too soon, she was lost to sight—she didn't even know I was here.

Time for business. We went upstairs, where Dancer had his office, and I knocked. Talk about weird, knocking and waiting for a friend who was now my boss to call out, "Enter."

Nothing happened, and I stood there like a fool, tapping my foot impatiently while Mithnite just gazed about and failed to look like anything but a homeless wizard who hadn't completed his apprenticeship.

"How much can you carry?" came Dancer's voice from behind us, making me jump and Mithnite squeal. My eyes almost snapped to black as magic began to course through my body.

It was only with a massive amount of willpower I let it recede before it engulfed me, and said, "What are you talking about?" as he walked past us and pushed open the door to his office with a dramatic flourish. We followed him in and the door closed behind us on its own. Guess he didn't do things by halves.

"What amount of weight can you carry for a distance?" Dancer asked again as he settled himself behind a huge desk so dark, so old, so covered in worn carvings of distorted faces I didn't want to go anywhere near it in case it bit me.

"Are we talking pounds or kilos?"

"Doesn't matter, it's all the same," he said, looking harried and stressed.

"Tell that to the EU, and the Americans. I still think in pounds but everyone else uses kilos now, don't they?"

"What?" snapped Dancer. "Sorry, been a busy morning. This job is going to put me into an early grave."

"Hey, you've made it this far, you'll be fine." He knew what I meant, the whole living for almost a thousand years thing, but I'd said I would never talk about it, never use his real name, and I would stick to it.

"I hope so. Look, sorry, let's start again. Take a seat."

I eyed the desk nervously. "Is it safe?"

"Of course, it's just a desk. Guess who it belonged to. Go on, take a guess." His eyes sparkled, like it would be a great revelation.

"Um, Vlad?"

"Pah, older."

"Merlin?"

"Nope," he said, annoying smug look on his face that always used to make me want to punch him. Okay, still does, just a little.

"I give up," I sighed, not really in the mood.

"It's Faustus' desk. You know, as in Faustus and Mephistopheles." Dancer stroked a particularly ugly head fondly—I'm sure it opened its mouth to snap at a finger before he pulled it away, still looking happy.

"As in dude that sold his soul to the Devil? You sure it's not dangerous?"

"Yup. Now, about the weight?"

"I guess I can carry a fair bit, depends how far."

"But you could easily do, what, thirty kilos? Forty? Fifty?"

I shrugged. "Dunno."

"For this job..." Dancer paused, frowning. "Damn, what the hell? I'm so stressed I didn't even think about the boy being here. What's going on? You can't be in here when we talk business. Out, out."

"Calm down. He's with me. Just looking out for him."

"This is no business for Mithnite, Spark. It's dangerous and he could get killed."

"Hey, what about me?"

"You're used to it." He was right, I was. More's the pity.

"It's okay, I'll wait outside. Nice to see you again, Head." Mithnite closed the door behind him—he'd done well, not tried to push it. He'd already gotten further than others of his age and status—made me proud.

"Okay, look, the dwarves said they will pay in gold, and whatever you can carry away with you is what we get to keep. Fifty-fifty split between you and me."

"Sixty-forty," I countered, seeing as I would be doing all the dangerous work.

"Done," said Dancer without thinking.

"Damn."

"You have been. I would have gone to seventy-forty."

"Huh, your math is off."

"No, it isn't. This is dwarven gold, it's magic."

"Whatever. Okay, what's the job?"

"First, are you sure? I don't want to be the one to blame if you decide you don't want to get involved in the life. I knew you'd cave eventually, knew it was just the effects of what happened that turned you sour, but this is who we are, Spark. We're not addicts, we're users. This is our life, our blessing."

"And our curse. And a user is an addict, Boss." Was it just me? Could nobody else see what was right in front of them? Or was I wrong and just had a warped sense of this power, this drug? Right there and then I decided one thing—whoever was right, there was no denying that magic defined me, and I would never turn my back on it for good.

Never.

"Okay, what's the job?"

"There's a dragon in the dwarves' main hoard room, and it won't let them have any of their gold."

"Haha, shut up. Very funny. Why don't you get a Hobbit to sort it out, then?"

"I'm serious, Spark. That's what they told me, and they seemed genuine. A bloody scary dragon and it has their stash."