Spirited Words (The Freelancers Book 4) Page 9

  *

  It was not old, not as old as most of the beasts she had faced with Rafe. Not even close. If anything, this was nothing more than a child―mostly because it was brought forth by the death of a child.

  She could feel the sheer terror that went through the boy's head, only twelve years old, walking along the street when the ground literally cracked and caved in beneath his feet. The moments of the fall, as brief as they were, felt like an eternity―as did the agony of the flames licking against his skin, melting his flesh, roasting him to the bone.

  He was conscious through it all. Felt every second of his skin crackling and searing, felt the eyes in his head boiling and bursting. And when he finally succumbed to the injuries and smoke inhalation and burns, he did not get to die.

  At first, the memories remained, of who he was, where his home was, who his parents were. But they could not comprehend him in his smoke form, could not even see him. But they could smell the noxious fumes his presence created. They left their home, left the town, as did all the residents.

  But he could not leave. He was bound to the fire that birthed him forth, and that was where he would remain. A ghost in a ghost town.

  *

  Ana pulled her hand back from the creature, a tear wound its way down her cheek.

  “You poor thing,” she said, overcome with empathy.

  Although the enenra was not able to speak, its body language changed, as if it understood that she knew the pain it suffered.

  “You're all alone. . . And you don't have to be. . . I can set you free, if you'll let me.”

  The cavernous holes set with a blazing scarlet that served as the creature's eyes became wide, the velvet smoke of its head nodded. Ana wiped another tear away and smiled, gingerly putting her hands out, fingers pointing towards the hole in the ground. She closed her eyes, and tried to picture the fire below, ravaging its way through the tunnels, as it had been for decades. Taking a shallow breath, she laid out her intent, and flexed her fingers. Cracks in reality appeared throughout the tunnel. The flames rocketed through them, funnelling into the Mirror Realm.

  Balling her hands up into fists, she realigned her intentions, this time taking a deep breath, focusing her mind and body on an adept that was not her own―and not as easy to manipulate.

  Taking hold of the burning coal in mind's eye, she lifted the flames from the surface, pulled it from the walls, ceilings and floor of the labyrinth of mine tunnels, and sent it through the myriad cracks into the Mirror Realm.

  Her eyes burst open, legs beneath her feeling weak and fragile. She fell down to the ground.

  The enenra snaked around her, caught her, cushioning the fall. Its head was close to hers, the heat from its eyes sweltering against her skin. The smoke of its body began to thin, the thick cloud becoming a thin mist.

  And as it vanished, she could swear that she saw a smile on its lips.

  Rafe walked over towards her. He had kept his distance so as not to spook the creature, but had the distinct impression from Ana's position on the ground, and soft sobbing, that it had dissipated.

  “It's done?” he asked, kneeling down beside her.

  She nodded, wiping the tears away.

  “Good work.”

  A scoff burst from her lips. “Was it?” she asked incredulously. “That poor kid. . . I'm glad we freed him, but. . . all we did was make the land good for some arsehole developer to swing in and build a new town. . . it wasn't for the greater good or anything―it was for profiteering. I feel. . . dirty because of it!”

  “You're literally dirty, because you're covered in ash.”

  “I'm not kidding.”

  “I'm not either.”

  “Rafe!”

  “We do the jobs that come to us. We don't have to like them. . . This one's a little shady, but it's better than the dreck Slugtrough throws our way. You've got to focus on the good we do. . . You freed a spirit that had been trapped here for years, that was a good thing, a better thing than you would have done working in the damn Factory, that's for sure.” He offered her a hand, and pulled her back up to her feet, putting an arm around her waist to help keep her steady.

  She knew he was right, but there was still an emotional hangover in the air. The way she left things with Mallory was nagging at her. She needed to set things right, and get her damn friendship back on track.

  Chapter 23

  The truth

  Ana sat at the bar and nursed a whisky, casually observing Mallory from afar as she waited for Rafe to return from dealing with the boring transactional part of the job. It had crossed her mind, how exactly he ended up knowing a property developer who was familiar with the magickal world, but she hadn't cared enough to inquire further. Rafe seemed to know an awful lot of people who regularly needed their services, so it was only logical that some of them would be above board―or more accurately, it made sense to her that not all of them were going to be as vile and repugnant as Slugtrough.

  Sipping at the glass of whatever scotch Mallory had put in front of her, Ana couldn't help but let her mind wander. This had been their routine for so long now, case then drink, case then drink. She was starting to wonder if there was a casting she could learn that would enable her to stave off the inevitable liver damage that was going to come from the regular alcohol-based celebrations of a job well done. And they always seemed to come back to Day Drinkers after a job well done―there were never any open cases, every one of them was a win, which got her curious as to whether other private investigators―if that's what they were―had such a hit rate. If Rafe advertised, she thought that should be the tagline. 'Never a case unsolved' or 'guaranteed success, or your money back'. Although, if they were going to be a hundred percent honest, a more accurate tagline would be 'we spend most of your fee on alcohol'.

  As Mallory crossed past her to go on a hunt for empty glasses, Ana saw something on her neck, and leaned back on the barstool. She was convinced her eyes were deceiving her, and craned around, gaze following Mallory as she traversed the room. It looked like something she had never thought Mallory would be into. . . a tattoo.

  She waited until Mallory went back behind the bar and got to the dishwasher before she said anything, leaning over to take a closer look at her neck.

  “Did you get ink?”

  Mallory didn't respond, staring straight into the cavern of the dishwasher, clinking and clacking the glasses as loud as possible so as not to have to be involved in conversation.

  Ana tried to quell a heavy sigh that was brewing in her throat. She was getting tired of Mallory's passive aggressive reaction to her screw-up with their coffee date. She thought back to a sigil she had seen Rafe use, it had looked as though he were miming taking hold of his eyes, and zooming them in like binoculars.

  Copying the gesture from her memory, she zoomed her vision in way too close, finding herself a little jealous at how small Mallory's pores were, even at that focal length. Pulling her vision back out again, she squinted, strained to focus until she could make out the ink on Mallory's neck.

  Her jaw dropped.

  Written on Mallory's skin, in her own handwriting, was a message that felt all too directed at her.

  'I feel like our friendship is over'

  “Is that a tattoo?” she found herself saying all too loudly, as she gestured to put her vision back at the right zoom.

  “What?” Mallory asked, slamming the dishwasher and rising to her feet with a confused glare.

  “On your neck. . .”

  “What are you talking about?” she said, looking around for something reflective. Standing on tip toes, she glanced into the concave reflection of the back of one of the beer taps, eyes narrowing as she tried to read it backwards, then going wide as she translated it.

  “No, it's. . . I dunno. . .”

  Ana could tell she was flustered, pulling up the collar of her shirt, then angling her head to try and hide the ink.

  “It was there when I woke up. . . Must be a prank or
something. . .”

  “Isn't that you're handwriting?”

  “Yeah, but it's. . . I dunno―”

  “Is. . . Is it about us?”

  “What? No!” The lie was all over her face, Ana didn't need to second-guess.

  “Are you sure? I feel like I've been, y'know, preoccupied. . . we haven't had any time, and then I missed our coffee last week, and I feel awful―”

  “You feel awful?!” Mallory shrieked. “We haven't seen each other for forever, months now, and you feel awful?!”

  Ana's lips parted to speak, but she had no words. Mallory was right. She was righter than right. There was no excuse, no defence she could hang on to. She had abandoned her best friend, countless times over the last few months. She needed to prioritise, focus on what actually mattered.

  And then there was the wider picture. Not the whole scenario that was her fault, the fact that the words were on Mallory's skin, and she seemed to have no notion of putting them there.

  “You didn't write that. . . but you meant it?”

  “What?”

  “The words on your neck, in your own handwriting, that you didn't write. . . is it, like, a manifestation of your thoughts?”

  “The hell are you talking about?“

  Ana's heart dropped, a chill came over her. Something wasn't right with her friend, and she realised that she needed to tell her the truth, about everything that had happened to her since she met Rafe. All of it.

  Chapter 24

  This is. . . Magic

  Mallory didn't believe a damn word Ana told her, and spent every spare second of the last of the bar's opening hours telling her as much. Despite this, Ana continued to attempt to explain, but it was clear that words wouldn't do the job.

  She hung around until closing, waiting semi-patiently for Mallory to start kicking the regulars out the bar, knowing that it would be the perfect time for a practical demonstration. As Mallory helped an old man to his feet, found his walking stick and helped him to the door, Ana rose from her stool.

  When Mallory turned, there was a loud crash in the room, and suddenly, she was staring at a fractal reflection of herself, a myriad shards in reality refracting her own image, sending it right back at her. Her eyes were wide, jaw dropped, and she sidestepped, walked around it. The reflections moved around too, looking back at her from every angle.

  “What is this. . .“ she asked, glancing over her shoulder to Ana, who was levitating a foot off the ground, and on fire.

  “I don't understand. . .“

  Ana walked towards her on the air, leaving the fiery incarnation of herself standing behind her. Her fingers whipped around in an artful, almost choreographed fashion, and the shadows from every corner of the bar shot from their natural locations, coalescing together into the form of a man. He put a hand out, and the fire woman laid her fingers in his palm.

  With a flurry of darkness and light, he spun her, and the two of them proceeded to dance a tango back and forth along the length of the bar.

  Mallory stared, wide-eyed, following them back and forth as they danced until the two figures came together, shadow engulfing flame, and fire dissipating darkness.

  Mallory was left staring at the smoke that remained, Ana took hold of it and crudely shaped it into a smiley face, that in truth, looked more like a vague circle that just hung in the air.

  “Still working on controlling smoke. . .” she muttered.

  “Controlling. . . smoke. . .”

  “Yeah, it's an adept, not mine unfortunately. . .”

  “Adept?”

  “Natural skill, some of us have them, what what we don't have we can try to learn.”

  “And this is. . . Magic.”

  “Magick with a K at the end, despite 'magic' already having a hard K sound. . . because of something to do with hermits. . .“

  “Hermits?”

  “Hermetics. . . or maybe it was Thelema. . . I don't know, Rafe talks a lot, and I try to ignore most of what he says. Magic without the K is, like, stage magic. With the K is what we do, which is, I guess you'd call it 'reality manipulation'.”

  “Can we back this all the way up. . . You. . . do magick. . .”

  “Yup.” Ana said with a wide smile, overjoyed at finally being able to tell her best friend about what the hell she had been up to for all the months since her grandmother―her mother―died. That was a whole other deal, that she made a mental note to explain, somewhere down the line.

  “And Rafe?”

  “He's my glamorous assistant, oh, speaking of which. . . ” She threw her fingers to the wall, and the wood shifted and reshaped to form a black glossy door. Rafe stepped through it as soon as it was fully formed.

  “I've been calling you for a damn hour. . . Tali told me to go screw myself because the world is on fire. . .” He caught Mallory's eye, glancing over his shoulder to the daylight behind him back in America. He quickly slammed the door shut to obscure it, but it was obviously too late.

  “And the two of you. . . Are wizards?”

  “Magickians,” Ana corrected.

  “You. . . told her?” Rafe stuttered, his fingers already swirling to mesmerise the bartender.

  “Yes.” Ana said “And you're not going to wipe her damn mind. . . she needs our help.”

  “More than that. . .” Mallory said, stepping behind the bar, grabbing a glass and the cheap whisky from the rack, with frantically shaking hands. “I need a damn drink.”

  Ana grabbed the bottle from her friend, “No,” she instructed, gesturing through the air. A bottle flew from the top shelf behind the bar straight into her hand. “You need the good stuff.”

  Ana poured her a generous measure of the most expensive whisky in the house. They needed to get to the bottom of whatever the hell was happening to Mallory, but they sure as hell weren't going to nurse her through it sober. . .

  Chapter 25

  Pro bono

  “It's magick.” Ana insisted.

  “You don't know that. . .” Rafe sighed.

  “It has to be.”

  “It could be any number of things.”

  “Any number of magickal things. . . “

  “She could have written it herself.”

  “She didn't.”

  “It could be a. . . cry for attention.”

  “It isn't!”

  “You know I'm right here. . .” Mallory spat at the two of them. She was getting fed up of being talked about as if she wasn't in the room.

  “Look at it!” Ana shouted, indicating to Mallory's neck.

  “Really rather you wouldn't. . .”

  “It looks like ink to me,” Rafe huffed.

  “Magick ink!”

  “I haven't seen anything like this before.”

  “Does that mean it doesn't exist?”

  “No, it just means. . . It's unprecedented. . .”

  “It's magickal, it's a case, and we're doing it. Pro bono.”

  “I'm not that big a fan of U2. . .”

  Ana's blank expression spoke volumes.

  “Been holding that one in a while?” She growled, not entertained at how glib he was to her friend's plight.

  “Is this the only one?” he asked Mallory.

  She took a breath, gaze skirting the floor, reluctantly raising to meet his eyes. “No. . .”

  “See!” Ana shrieked. “It's a case!”

  “It might just be―”

  “It is.” Ana growled, with a glare that ordered Rafe not to say another damn word to the contrary. She turned to Mallory, trying to be as tactful as possible. “So. . . who was this guy?”

  Mallory shrugged. “I dunno, a regular, 'tattoo guy' I called him. Really sweet guy. He's been around a while, y'know?”

  “Do you have a name, like, an actual name?”

  “Peter. . . something”

  “Ever seen him before outside of here? Any idea where else he goes? Where he lives?”

  Another shrug. “We passed each other in the street a couple of t
imes, don't think it was ever the same place twice though.”

  “Tattoo guy. . .” Rafe repeated. “Did he always have tattoos?”

  “Yeah, but he got a bunch more recently.”

  “How recently?”

  “I don't know, a week or two?”

  “And that's about the same time he got the confidence to speak to you?”

  “I guess?”

  “Why does that matter?” Ana asked. This line of questioning was full-on investigative, the type of thing Rafe excelled at, and she had taken a back seat to.

  “If this is magick, and its like the thing on her―your―neck,” he turned to Mallory, becoming all too aware of not talking about her in the third person. “That's a thought that's been in the back of your head. . . . So what if it was the same with him, the messages telling him that he should finally get around to talking to you. . .”

  “You think it's magick!” Ana said triumphantly.

  “I'm theorising here. . .”

  “You're on the case.”

  “We're just talking right now.” He turned back to Mallory. “Was there a difference in the tattoos, the design or frequency? Anything different about his manner or dress?”

  “Yeah,” Mallory said. “I mean, he was covered up, even though it's summer, and he had way more bandages over the last few weeks, and I mean way more, when he started talking to me. The old ink he has was pretty, I guess, the new stuff is just blocks―”

  “Like he's redacting text?”

  “That's exactly what I said! He didn't know what I meant. . .”

  “A few weeks. . . And you slept with him last night?”

  “What are you thinking?” Ana asked.

  “That gives us a timeline. . . If this is magick―”