Black Spark (Dark Magic Enforcer Book 1) (16 page)

The tattoos are really a single tattoo, an unbroken line that starts at my left wrist and goes for a walk over my entire body. You can trace the whole thing if you want, but it would take a while.

I'm not one for runes, artifacts, or unnecessary paraphernalia for my art, but the ink is important. It matches perfectly the power lines that run through my body—some would call them chakras—that channel my energy and that of the Empty.

The combination allows me to become something more than I ever could otherwise. These are mine, personal and a part of me. The ink allows me to be who I am, and it's dangerous.

For years I fought with them. They had a life of their own, were hard to control, prone to anger, and activated at inopportune moments. Or they got carried away and sucked up more power than I needed, or made me discharge more magic than was strictly necessary—I got into a lot of trouble for my wild acts.

But over the years I gained control, and for normal lifetimes now they have been as much a part of me as breathing.

I sucked in my stomach as I examined myself in the mirror. I looked pretty good, actually. Slim, but toned and with enough muscle to be attractive, but not too much, as that would mean spending more time in the gym at Rikka's House and unofficial Council headquarters. I went a few times a week when it was quiet, just to stay in shape, and that was plenty.

The blond hair was a shock. I'd half-forgotten quite how pale I'd dyed it, but I could get used to it, and it's nice to have a change now and then. I turned on the shower, let it heat through, then stepped into the cubicle.

My thoughts moved too fast and I couldn't keep up. The day had been too intense, with too much happening. It was more than I usually saw in a week, sometimes months, and I needed some down time to gather myself back together. I knew now wasn't the time.

Once I was clean, I got dressed in a nice dark suit and the usual red shirt. Wondering what on earth could happen next, I went back downstairs.

The TV was on and Kate was sitting forward on the sofa, eyes glued to the screen.

I joined her and we sat there for ten minutes, her flicking through the news channels and both of us smiling the whole time. She'd done it. Kate had saved me.

There is no telling how happy I felt, how relieved. I had seriously panicked that I would be put down for what I'd done. Neither Rikka nor Taavi are known for their forgiveness, but if the news was anything to go by then I was well and truly off the hook.

The Grandmaster had shocked the morgue with his sudden awoken state, so straight away the news focused on what went wrong at the hospital, rather than me killing him. There were endless clips of the doctored footage Kate had let loose, and the whole thing turned more into a comedy really. The news anchors dismissed the whole incident as a prank, and the latest in a long line of manufactured-to-be-viral, online videos.

My terrible act was lost in the melee. And besides, the footage of me was far from perfect. I was almost my usual everyman, meaning my magic had still been hiding me to some extent. Nobody would recognize me if I was stood right in front of them. That's not to say the magic didn't look real, it certainly did, but so did what Kate had done. You couldn't tell what was fake and what was genuine.

I felt silly for panicking and thinking I would be picked up from the footage, but at the time I hadn't known what I was, or what I was capable of, so I forgave myself. Almost. The Grandmaster would still die, and I have to live with that. He is the first innocent I have ever killed, and it's inexcusable. And it's a shame about the hair, too.

Click
.

Kate turned the TV off. We'd seen enough; I was saved. "Looks like you're in the clear."

"It sure does. Thanks, Kate. I owe you big time."

"My pleasure."

We sat in silence for a little while, but I knew I had things to do so offered to take her home. She said she would come with me, but it wasn't a good idea, so, after a few quick bites of leftovers from the fridge, my appetite recovered, I took her home.

Oliver remained quiet in the car. I knew he was itching to get Kate closer to him—she is a catch, after all—but she is Taavi's, and it meant she was to be treated with the utmost respect at all times.

Kate ignored him—she likes him about as much as I do.

We said goodbye outside the door to her building, her knowing I knew she would be back out in minutes, unable to stay cooped up with blood magic running through her veins, me not mentioning it, trying not to think of what she might get up to in her current elevated state. I left.

Time to go see Rikka again, hope he had forgiven me, and find out more about the Armenian.

Undead and Dangerous

"You took your time. I'm bored," growled Oliver as I got into the car. He was angry. Good.

"Tough. Go home and have a sleep if you don't want to be here. I honestly don't care." He glared at me.

I called ahead and was told Rikka was busy but to hang on. A few minutes later he came on the line.

"Spark, well done for sorting out the mess. I must congratulate you on a job well done."

"Um, thanks, Boss." Right away I knew he wanted something. "It's not over yet though," I added hurriedly.

He ignored me in his usual way. "I wasn't expecting you to be available so soon, but seeing as you have cleared up your troubles then I need you for this."

Damn, should have called later but it was too late now. "What do you need?" I asked warily. "I do have the Armenian to deal with, you know."

"Yes, yes, plenty of time for that. This won't take long. We have a bit of a situation and I was just putting a team together, but you will be perfect. You and a few others."

"Okay, what is it though?" I hate it when he's evasive, it always means trouble.

"The zombies. It seems they have been a little naughty. We need to go have a word, make a few minor repairs, that sort of thing."

"Zombies!" I sighed. Too late now. "Fine. Usual place?"

"Isn't it always? See you there in thirty." He hung up.

"I hate zombies," came the voice of Oliver from the rear, spitting out the word like he was some kind of prize specimen.

"Don't come then." I glanced at him in the rearview. He glared at me but said nothing. The only thing worse than having a vampire ride around with you is forgetting you have a vampire riding around with you—it makes you jump every time they open their nasty mouth.

Rikka's domain over the zombies comes with the job of being Head of the UK Dark Council—they are magic-infused beings after all. But they are so unorganized and rather forgetful that they would never think to arrange either their own Head or Council. Unsurprising, as they can't even keep their own limbs attached half the time, so what hope is there of that?

They are also a real pain and I've dealt with them on numerous occasions. I guess you could say they have a leader of sorts, although I use the term very loosely, just like their limbs and organs.

Well, I had no choice now. I was back in Rikka's good books and you don't turn him down. Ever.

Rikka is an odd guy. To look at him you just think fat, but he's a shrewd businessman, very intelligent, ruthless, more powerful at magic than anyone else I have ever met, but hardly ever uses it now as he has us for that.

He's over nine hundred years old, has seen more than I can possibly imagine, knows his way around magic like a true Hidden, and was even slim once.

Rikka is old skool in many ways, upholds traditions of magic centuries out of date, and when a young man he had his apprenticeship in a proper school for wizards back in Finland, where he wore robes and a pointy hat and even had a wand, so he told me. Those days are long gone. There are no schools now. Where would you put them? And kids won't be seen dead in a pointy hat because before they knew it it would be all over the Web and their mates would laugh at them.

Now it's all attitude and keeping up with trends, which is all for the good as magic is for the strong, not those who want to play about and turn cats into frogs or vice-versa. But Rikka remembers the old days, had serious training from many of those on the Dark Council—some much older than him—and I guess you could call the whole Council a bit of a boys club. That's right, no women.

Some traditions and institutions are a little slower to update, but the women have a strong presence on the Hidden Council and it won't be long before the wizards that dominate the Dark Council have to get with the times.

So, for all Rikka's power and fortitude, he was still nervous about dealing with whatever the zombies had been up to, which meant only one thing: the day was about to get a lot worse.

"Great, goddamn zombies." I drove out of the city and in half an hour I was at zombie headquarters. I'm not a fan, in case you haven't guessed. They're so sad, desperate to stay alive against all the odds. And bitey. Very bitey. Plus the undead are entirely unpredictable. It makes me nervous, and wish I had a scarf, but they never go with the suit.

*

Zombies have to be contained, there are no two ways about it. You can't have people wandering around loose if the first thing they will do is try to eat folk. It's just not right. So they have zones, and there are numerous such places around the country, same as all over the world. They are heavily protected with magic, lines drawn around the perimeter that stop them passing.

I've even helped with a few myself, and they have to be strong as zombies don't feel pain, will happily lose a limb or two if it means brains, and are often pretty stupid to boot. All of it means they are tricky to deal with and mostly refuse to recognize that anyone is in charge.

I took the access road to their compound, thinking it would be better to park at the side of the building then walk the rest of the way, just in case they were out of control and so I could get an idea of what had happened. Pulling up to the spot where I'd been a few times before, because of one incident or another, I checked out the woods to my right and the sloping lawns that led up to their expansive home. All clear.

I got out the car, ignored the rain, and looked down at my shoes as I heard the squelch.

"Great, just great." My winklepickers were covered in mud and that wasn't the half of it. The place was a total disaster zone. The ground was a quagmire, there were bits of goop everywhere, and Rikka hadn't arrived.

Writing off the shoes, I headed across the open ground toward their compound, but it was strangely quiet. That was a very bad sign.

"Shit, shit, shit." I nearly went over as my leg refused to move. I looked down to see a mud-covered ghoul clawing at my suit trousers with his dirty tongue licking the air, getting a taste of my magic and probably a hint of brain.

I kicked with my other leg at his hands but he held on tight, and then the mud erupted into a mass of writhing bodies and I almost panicked.

"Goddamn zombies!" They are sneaky buggers, they really are.

"Do something," I yelled at Oliver. The coward just moved past in a blur, streaking through the mud and away from the carnage in a split-second, then stood up on higher ground.

"I'm not to interfere. I'm to watch only." He grinned and I hated him more than ever.

I dismissed him as unimportant. I had more immediate concerns. The ground was alive, writhing with more limbs than at a vampire orgy, and twice as messy. They would eat me, and I'd be a real treat. Full of magic. My flesh would animate them like they'd probably never been animated before, even in life.

Bodies kept on emerging, slowly getting to their feet, slipping and sliding with their uncoordinated limbs as they gnashed their teeth and moaned for my mental matter.

The tugging on my leg increased and then there were two, pulling at me like insistent children for ice-cream, except they wanted something a lot warmer, preferably pulsing.

I seriously wasn't in the mood. Couldn't believe Rikka hadn't warned me about this, and, I admit, the anger rose a little. I looked toward the large country home that was their very nice compound, and across the neat lawns to the muddy mess I was stood in, wondering what the hell had happened.

All the while, the dark magic welled up in every cell of my body until my tattoos scratched my skin like I was wrapped in a shroud of rose thorns.

My brown eyes darkened, the whites turning black with flecks of silver that put me firmly in my Black Spark zone.

I raised my arms from my sides, lifting them and calling the Empty to me like a lover you hate with all your heart but need more than the pain it causes. Magic flowed through me and outward in a shock wave that almost sent me to my knees as the ground buckled and the mud and zombies rode a tidal wave of Empty energy, collapsing into the churned earth as rain beat down hard and my body fizzed.

They were clambering back to their feet almost instantly—that's what you get for playing nice. I didn't want to inflict more damage on the poor creatures than they already had, if I wasn't going to outright kill them then it was the height of cruelty to blast away, sending limbs flying, knowing they would continue to exist no matter what I did, short of separating them from their heads.

Admitting my sympathy, and even admiration, for the undead worked against me though, and I felt the magic dissipate, the sickness taking its place. With little choice if I wanted to escape without having a hard decision to make about my future—to be undead or permanently dead, that is the question—I focused my mind. My tattoos shone through my clothes, black and silver lines flashing like angry sparklers on bonfire night, crackling and hissing like I was nothing but a bagful of angry snakes.

Disruptive power surged hard through my body, lumpy and nasty, spreading down and up, converging at my navel. I pushed out fast with both hands, but with just a touch of mercy.

The zombies were up now, lunging for me, teeth gnashing like hungry hippos, no thought in their heads but to devour me. The force of my magic, my borrowed magic, hammered down on them like a shower of cannonballs. They crumpled like ragdolls, and the ground squashed flat like a bad landscape job, the footprints, the holes, the muddy rivulets all flattened, the undead along with them.