Hidden Spark (Dark Magic Enforcer Book 6) (4 page)

Dancer really seemed to believe it, but this was right out of a book by the master of all things fantasy. "They may have told you that, but no way is that the truth. And anyway, there aren't actual dragons, are there? Not real life, fire-breathing things?" It was the stuff of fairy tales. I'd never heard of a soul ever seeing a real dragon, not now, not ever.

"They're real all right. I've seen one. Long time ago." Dancer winked, signifying what he meant.

"How long ago?" I asked, more than a little curious.

"Six," he said. Meaning six hundred years ago.

"Right. Okay, give me the details."

He did. Looked like I was off to the dwarves' caves, but no way would it be to convince a dragon to give up the goodies. At least I hoped not. I may be able to suck the magic right out of Hidden humans but I knew for a fact that I'd be toast in a heartbeat if I tried that with a genuine dragon.

Dragons! Yeah, right!

A Strange Meeting

After finalizing a few details and getting my contact's location and the time of our meeting, I left the Council HQ with Mithnite and found myself back outside the innocuous terraced house. The whole street was Hidden territory, so no need to worry about the constant comings and goings.

This sounded like a seriously epic way to begin my life as a resurrected dark magic enforcer, but then, this was what drew me, the promise of excitement, of magic, of the unknown. Dwarf caves, dragons, gold. How cool was this going to be?

A quick drive across town, I parked and after a short walk we were outside a pawn shop in one of the arcades right in the heart of the city. It's the proper old quarter that I like best—the narrow alleys, the darkness, the history that seeps up from the ground and relaxes me, allows me to forget about the traffic and the fumes, which all still seem like a recent occurrence.

Knowing it wouldn't go down well, especially if the contact was the distrustful sort—which it would be because it was a dwarf—I told Mithnite to just hang around and wait, and that I'd meet him soon at a nearby church. He headed off, disappointed but doing as I asked.

The windows were crammed full of displays of various pieces of jewelry. From watches to rings, to chains and anything else made of precious metals, definite emphasis on gold. After loitering for a few minutes, just checking out what was on offer, I pushed open the door and was half-deafened by a loud bell right above my head. The tinnitus flared up then receded. Damn, I wish I could cure myself of this thing, it's so annoying.

The tiny space was cramped to say the least, almost as if it was custom-built for people of limited height. The ceiling was low, the room was closing in on me with locked display cabinets of more junk and items precious at one time to their owners. One wall was taken up by the serving window, reinforced glass and a tiny opening for items and money to exchange hands.

At one time I knew the guy that ran it, but it had changed owners a number of times since so I didn't know who to expect.

"Hello? Anyone here?"

"What?" came a less than friendly voice from somewhere behind the counter, out of sight.

"Where are you?" I know dwarves are short, but you had to be seen if you wanted to do business.

"Be with you in a minute, just hang on." I waited, listening to the labored breathing of the gruff dwarf as paper rustled and tape was used, my guess being sealing something ready to post.

A mass of hair eventually popped up from behind the counter and kept on rising as the dwarf clambered up onto a high chair and sat.

"Ulod Lavadelver, I presume?"

"Who's asking?" said Ulod, looking apprehensive. Dwarves usually appear as swarthy bearded men to Regulars, and never used their dwarven names unless they're sure you're a Hidden, so it was understandable.

"I'm Faz Pound, Black Spark," I said, giving him both my Regular and Hidden names. "Dancer, um, Council Head Dancer sent me." I realized then that I wasn't sure what Dancer's new title was. Had he become a Mage? No, that was next step up from wizard. What was the next level for a necromancer? I'd have to ask.

"Ah, why didn't you say?" said Ulod, not looking quite as shifty now. Okay, I'm going to say he, but as with so many truly magical creatures it's no easy thing to know. All dwarves dress alike, heavy on the leather and thick belts for hammers and chisels, requisite leather satchel for any gold they might pick up plus the gold they carry with them at all times, and they never talk about sex.

Just because Ulod had a beard down to his waist, in three plaits, had so much thick hair and even thicker eyebrows that you got to see little exposed flesh and what you did see was a swarthy dark brown, well, it makes you think male—that's my prejudice showing, but some habits are hard to shake.

Ulod rattled a large keyring and unlocked a door at the end of the counter. He came out, locked the front door, put up the closed sign, and then said, "Follow me." We went behind the counter, through another door he unlocked then locked behind us—they like keys, a lot—weaved through a maze of racking piled high with closed boxes that smelled of the earth, and then he stopped at a trapdoor.

Pulling on a massive ring with meaty hands, he heaved up a door I knew would weigh much more than I could hope to move, and said, "Down you go."

"In there?" I asked, looking at him dubiously.

"Yes, in there. I've been above ground too long, need to get somewhere I can feel comfortable. It's nice, promise."

With a shrug of the shoulders, I stepped down onto carved steps and guided by weak light from above I descended into the unknown.

A Resting Place

"It's not much," explained Ulod, "just a place to sleep that feels a little like home." He looked almost embarrassed, although I don't really think dwarves get embarrassed. It's more that they get angry, a lot, and defensive even more often.

"It's... Um, wow. It's stunning!" And it was. This was no hollow complement, his "bedroom" was a delight.

Rough stone steps led into a modest chamber maybe twenty feet high, thirty across, entirely circular. The floor was polished, the walls carved, revealing pillars, decorative work, all leading up to a stunning roof any gothic cathedral would have been proud to contain. Talk about craftsmanship.

"Glad you like it." Ulod beamed with pride. "It could do with more work, but it's better than sleeping up there." He nodded up, the words full of disgust. Dwarves really aren't big on living above ground, and soon Ulod would relinquish his position to another so he could retreat to the depths where he felt safe.

"How long did this take?" I couldn't imagine, and this was just a tiny taste of the wonders I'd heard the dwarves had in their proper underground domains.

"Time means nothing to a dwarf. It takes as long as it takes. But nuffin's ever finished, there's always more beauty to be revealed in the rock. It tells you wot it's meant to be and one or other of us will get around to it at some point."

"Ah, right." I felt odd, and not only because of where I was. Dwarves are very secretive, never inviting anyone into their private world. This was a rare honor, and definitely meant they trusted me, held me in high regard. I guess they'd have to if they'd asked for me to sort out their problem—usually dwarf issues were dealt with by dwarves, not outsiders.

But it wasn't just that. It was that Ulod was talking, almost casually. They are normally tight-lipped, rude, and want nothing to do with beings they see as inferior for living lives above ground and having only a passing interest in gold.

For them gold is everything, and the secrets the earth has to offer are what they live to uncover. Be it jewels, precious metals, the very rock itself. They have more in common with a troll than a human being, no matter that they are, when you get right down to it, just short humans in appearance, at least from what you can see. What goes on under the leather gear I have no idea, and I don't intend to find out any time soon.

I could count on one hand the people I'd encountered in my entire life that had seen even a part of the incredibly complex systems the dwarves have spread right across the globe, some of their cities straddling continents. Complexes of tunnels, mines, cities, small homes, caverns impossible to imagine, it just isn't allowed, and woe-betide anyone that tries to get in without permission.

"So why me? Why am I doing this? And what's the truth behind it all?"

"Don't ask me," he said, looking more relaxed in the gloom and surrounded by the weight of ages. "I'm just the contact. I ain't got any idea what's goin' on or what you're 'ere for. And don't you tell me," he added suddenly. "It's not my business. I'm the guide. We set off in a couple of hours. You ready?"

"I don't know. What do I need?"

"Nuffin really," he said with a shrug. "We live underground so everything's there. You ever been in a mine before? Cause that's where we start."

"No, never. I went to Big Bit Coal Museum once, on a day trip to have a look around, but it just seemed sad, a reminder of all that's lost."

"Don't get me started," he said, looking like I'd just shot a puppy in front of him then laughed. "Anyway, that's it. Meet me in two hours, I'll show you in and show you the way, then it's the big bosses wot you gotta deal with, not me."

He handed me a slip of paper with the name of an old mine, and directions. "Okay, I guess." Ulod turned and climbed reluctantly up to ground level. I took one last glance at the stunning place and wondered what sights I was going to see.

This made no sense. Why me? And how the hell was I supposed to pack for such an outing?

Did I need special shoes? Food? How about a hard hat?

I decided I'd go as I was, and with an hour to kill before I started the drive, figured I owed somebody a visit before she sent out a witch search party and they dragged me to her by my ears.

Time to go visit Grandma.

Don't Annoy Grandma

You'd think by now I'd have learned not to annoy Grandma, but I knew I had merely by my lack of visiting over recent months. Throughout my entire life I have tried my hardest to pop in at least once a week to say hi and to tell her that I love her. It's not like she needs my protection, she's a formidable witch of many years, so can take care of herself, but she's family, the only true family I have, and it's for my own peace of mind as much as to ensure she hasn't gone off the deep end and is up to no good.

As I stood outside the door to her house, Mithnite beside me looking scared and nervous—the most hardened of wizards tremble before Grandma so I didn't blame him—so familiar and usually a welcome sight, I swallowed with a dry throat and opened it. She refuses to lock the door even though in our world that can lead to all manner of problems. But she's Grandma, and nobody dares mess with her.

This little old lady, this ruse all the ancient witches hide behind, looks diminutive, gray-haired, always in her housecoat indoors, looking as innocent and frail as can be, the epitome of nice old lady. And she is. But cross her, or if she thinks you need something different to the potion you came to her for, then look out, she'll give you what she thinks you want, never mind what that entails.

Familiar smells greeted me as I walked down the dizzying patterns on the orange and brown swirling carpet, now so retro it could almost be fashionable—almost—and I readied myself for the tirade that was to come. I wasn't disappointed.

"It's me, the loving grandson come to say he loves his Grandma. And I brought a friend. Mithnite." See, I was trying to be good. I turned to see Mithnite still by the door, glancing around nervously. "Come on, she won't bite. Much," I added, which probably didn't help.

Grandma poked her head around the kitchen door, bringing with her strong odors of whatever potion she was working on, and scowled a special scowl she reserved just for me. "You're late," she muttered, then disappeared. A moment later she reappeared, said, "Hello, Mithnite Soos," then was gone again.

"Um, hi, Grandma," he said.

"How can I be late when I didn't say I was coming?" I asked as I entered the inferno that is the kitchen. Where the humidity is terrible and the extractor fan wails, asking for pity as it fails to deal with the steam engulfing it from the stove as huge pots of danger or bliss bubble away noisily.

"Don't try to be clever with me!" she scalded, stirring slowly, immune to the sauna-like conditions.

"I wasn't. Um, I'm back. Got a job," I said, hoping for a big smile and a hug. You can't beat a Grandma hug, they're the best.

"About time. Stupid boy, I don't know how Kate's put up with you while you've been going through this daft phase. Sit down, Mithnite, you're making the place look untidy." Mithnite sat.

Grandma ignored us as she poured our tea, teapot and cups already on the table when we arrived, along with a plate of sandwiches threatening to topple at any moment. How she knows is a mystery, but if you're coming for a visit she is always prepared.

I sank into my chair, missing my hug, then thought better of it and jumped up, squeezed her tight until she relented and reciprocated, and I said, "It's not a phase, I've had a rough time of it. You know what I went through. I honestly thought I was done with it all."

Grandma leaned back and studied me like I was covered in interesting warts. "Faz, I love you more than life itself, and would never tell you to do something I didn't believe in, but you are magic, same as I am. Same as Mithnite here is."

"Am I, really?"

"Don't interrupt," scalded Grandma.

"Sorry."

"Tsk, you just did it again! Faz, you can't escape it any more than you can escape your own destiny. We are who we are."

"Okay, so I've been a fool, nothing new there. I was so tired, so broken, Grandma. I believed it was the right thing to do."

"It's over with now. But don't you dare leave it so long between visits again," she warned, moving faster than you would believe as her potions began to bubble over.