Blood & Magic (28 page)

Henry took a black cab back to his father’s house, although he needed to get used to calling it
his
house. Mark was dead, his real mother gone years before and the people he called mum and dad, merely unwitting imposters chosen to protect him. No, that wasn’t fair, they had done much more than that. He hadn’t called them, he realised, since being told they weren’t his
real
parents. He had tried, picking up the phone and staring at it, not sure what he would say. To them, nothing had changed that past week, they knew nothing of the lies, the secrets. When they looked at him, they saw their son, but would he still feel the same about them? In every way, they had been his real parents, just not biologically. Yet, he hadn’t called them.

Entering the dark house, Henry turned on every single light until he had cast away all the shadows. Even with harsh fluorescence coving every inch of the house, Henry found himself jumping at every creak of a floorboard or the howl of the wind against the windows. He climbed the two flights of stairs to his fathers room and sat on the unmade bed, looking around for some posthumous guidance. Two photographs were arranged on the bedside table and one, quite unbelievably, was of Henry at his graduation. It was weird to think that a man he had never met kept a photo if him, which he had acquired God knows how, beside him every night. If Henry had gone in for emotions, then he imagined it was quite heart warming, but he didn’t have time for that. Next to his own picture was one of a woman in her late thirties with auburn hair and a smile that contained so much happiness, he was amazed that it could be captured in a photograph. His mother perhaps, but how could he know? These were the only two photos to be found in the entire house, the two people that meant enough to Mark for him to keep. When Gabriel was better, and he would get better as he was far too stubborn to die, Henry would ask him who this woman was.

Leaving the photographs behind, Henry wandered down through the house, finally finding himself in the living room. Nestling in the leather arm chair by the unlit fire, a cold draft encircled him as he stared out of the window onto the perfectly still street. What the hell had happened? His life had been simple and safe and, although he wasn’t always happy at that fact, it was how he coped. Sure, Henry had no purpose, no great goal, no need to exist, but while that had sometimes upset him, this new life was no better. His life now, and the life Mark must have led, was a million miles from safe and everyone he cared about was in danger simply for knowing him. Was this why Mark had tried to get him away, to protect him the only way he knew possible? He must have known Henry wouldn’t cope, but his plan hadn’t worked out and now his son was having to try and figure out how to find, and somehow stop, the man that had killed him.

Henry picked up a handful of notes by his side, cluttered ramblings on the Grendal killer. Nothing he read was new to him, sprawled notes covering police reports and newspaper clippings. ‘Grendal is undetectable even to Inquisitors,’ Mark wrote, ‘to whom Grendal appears to have no reflection at all.’ So Henry wouldn’t even be able to see him coming with his powers, this whole thing just got better and better. Other notes described how Grendal was said to be almost invincible, linking to several historical papers citing fairy-tale hunting parties being savaged by his ‘inherent knowledge of physical magus’. That didn’t sound good either.

“We have a distinct advantage though.”

Henry turned, startled to see Tristan standing in the middle of the hallway, a large black sports bag by his side.

“And what is that?” Henry said.

“Normally Grendal hunts his victims, but tonight, we have the upper hand. Half of his power is his anonymity, I am not worried about facing him in combat.”

“Mark didn’t last very long.”

“No, but our odds are better.”

The front door banged open as a group of people entered the hallway, led by a man Henry recognised.

“Detective Superintendent,” Henry said.

“I’m afraid we don’t come as well equipped as I would like,” Nick said.

He pointed to a group men who followed him inside. By the way two transformed into human-jaguar style creatures, Henry took them to be R’Hard. The last to meet Henry’s gaze, transformed into something he hadn’t seen in person yet, but remembered from his training. The creature revealed had long extended limbs and a stone white face, eyes as black as opals and an inherent fragility about him. This was obviously what an Alesh looked like and, seeing one in the flesh, Henry understood the general disdain for them.

“Some of us might even be armed, but I can’t condone that you understand,” Nick said, as the detectives around him peeled back their jackets to reveal an array of pistols.

“Who are these people?”

“These are my
friends
within the alternate world, all detectives with the police. I understand you know who the Grendal is. Tristan suggested you could do with all the help you can get,” Nick said.

“Did you hear about Gabriel?” Henry said.

“He will be fine, although you had a lucky escape,” Tristan said.

“Lucky is definitely one way of putting it, I still can’t work it out,” Henry said.

“Guess we can ask Grendal himself later,” Tristan said.

“Only if you don’t kill him, we need to bring him back so we can-”

“Stick it to Wade, I know. Slimy little git, things are gonna get messy after this.”

“I’m counting on it,” Henry said. “He will pay for what he has done.”

“I sure hope so.”

The door to the house creaked open and, bounding in awkwardly, walked a familiar face. Jonathan, the Inquisitor Henry had met after his initiation with the council, stood with a goofy smile in a battered woollen trench coat that struggled to contain his broad frame and offered his hand to Henry to shake.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jonathan said.

“Thanks for coming, I didn’t know you were-”

“Where the hell have you been?” Tristan said, cutting in.

“Here to help you as much as I can,” Jonny said, ignoring Tristan.

“Enough of the pleasantries, it’s time to get ready,” Tristan said, handing Henry a sports bag. “Your gear. You left it at your flat, I thought I told you to keep hold of it at all times? Oh, and there’s this.”

He threw Henry a knife, sheathed in a leather scabbard. Withdrawing the blade, which was intricately inscribed with runes, Henry examined the hilt. A sculpted triquetra connected the blade and grip, the knife itself a dark metal that gleamed in the light.

“Every Inquisitor has a blade. This was your father's and so now it’s yours.” Tristan said. “Now, go get changed.”

Going through to the study, Henry closed the frosted glass door behind him. He changed, all the while listening to the conversation in the other room, which was only slightly muffled by the door.

“So Meyer believes that Grendal is Sabrina’s brother?” Jonny said.

“Sabrina the hooker?” One of the detectives said.

“One and the same. Silas will most probably be hiding with her, the mansion is half his after all,” Tristan said.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a mansion,” another of the detectives said.

“And how do you know that?”

“Let’s just say I had a close call once.”

“Anyway, even if he isn’t there, Sabrina will know where he is,” Tristan said.

Henry pulled the armour over his chest and strapped the weapons in their respective holsters, before redressing in his blood stained clothes.

“Interestingly, Silas was identified by one of my officers before he fled into the under-city this afternoon. Alice was on patrol when she came across him. Unfortunately Silas escaped as she had other things to deal with,” Nick said.

“Like what?” Jonny said.

“Like getting my daughter out of the under-city.”

“Nick, where is Alice by the way?” Tristan said. “I tried calling her.”

“She has been summoned by Wade, I don’t know what for,” Nick said.

“Well, it’s just the seven of us then, although I don’t know if the kid is going to be any use. Why is he here?” the first detective said.

“Because Mark was my father and someone needs to make sure we take Grendal
alive
. I have questions that need answers,” Henry said, emerging from the study.

“Henry will be fine, worry about yourselves and besides, you know the plan, right Henry?” Tristan said.

“What plan?” Henry said.

“Stay alive and don't get anyone else killed. Once we catch him, you can ask him whatever you want,” Tristan said.

Henry had never imagined, for you wouldn’t he supposed, that on a normal winters evening, he would be travelling on a tube with a confirmed killer, a chief superintendent of the metropolitan police and a series of detectives all with magical abilities; on his way to try and take down a magical being from folklore in a place that can only be found by those who know it is there. To be honest, any of the details that he now knew about the real world, the one of magic and secret societies that the general population stayed happily oblivious to, would have sounded crazy to him just two weeks ago. Maybe he should just learn to take things as they come.

They got off at Camden Town and, following Tristan, made their way to the tea shop Henry had used as passage to the under-city before. Tristan gave a half smile to the nervous tea shop owner, which reminded Henry of his previous warning.
Someone in the Inquisition is not who they claim to be
. Who was it, the tea seller had refused to give any more information, but he had no reason to lie. Could Henry trust Tristan? Meyer did and that should be enough for him.

They moved through the shop without resistance, their motley crew coming to a stop at the other side.

“What the hell?” said one of the detectives.

The under-city was in chaos. Around them, people were fleeing from something unseen. Traders grabbed as much of their wares are they could, loading carts as they disappeared down alleyways, while opportunist thieves stormed empty shops in the momentary advantage. A young man tried to run past, but before he could escape, Tristan grabbed him by the collar.

“What is going on?” Tristan said.

The man locked eyes with Tristan and naturally, he looked terrified. He looked away, but in doing so caught Henry’s eye, his irises flashing iridescent purple.

“Deliverance. They are attacking the DAS! They’ll come for us next, please, I’ve not done anything,” the man said.

“Which entrance?” Tristan said.

“Not in the under-city, they are attacking up top. It’s the start of a war. Let me go, I need to get out of here.”

Tristan released him and the man scurried away as fast as he could.

“How did they manage to get in?” Jonny said.

“I don’t know, the DAS is supposed to be stop this sort of thing, not be the centre of an attack,” Tristan said.

“And something so public, what will that mean?” Nick said.

“The man you killed,” Henry said. “He was supposed to be a traitor to the DAS wasn’t he?”

“The man you were supposed to kill you mean?”

Henry didn’t reply.

“My phone doesn’t show any reports of riots,” Nick said.

“Well that’s a good sign, means they are still in control of the media,” Jonny said.

“Look, we haven’t got time for this. We need to go,” Tristan said.

With that, the group carried on moving against the crowds, away from the centre of the under-city and towards Sabrina’s lair. As they approached the shop which Tristan had said would be their way in, he withdrew his gun and held it by his side. Moments later, everyone followed suit, which meant that seven armed men entered a tiny mirror shop to talk to, what appeared to be, a little old lady. They spread out in a fan in front of the old shop keeper who stood with her arms crossed in front of them. She gave a scalding look to each of them in turn and, unlike everyone else that met Tristan, she wasn’t one bit intimidated by him. She didn’t look terribly frightened by the guns either, so maybe she wasn’t a sweet little old lady at all.

“What do you want, steroid junky?” the old woman said to Tristan.

“We are here to use the access tunnel.”

“Well, cough up then.”

“Get out of here before I have you taken to the Inquisition vaults for aiding and abetting a fugitive.”

“You’ll do no such thing, I am a business woman and
you
are trespassing. We are closed, so bugger off,” the old woman said, her words almost a hiss.

This wasn’t going exactly as Henry expected. He had imagined they would storm Sabrina’s lair, not debate with some old lady just to get in. She looked impossibly old, like time had continued to pass and death had never quite found her. Although she was clearly ancient, the amount of extra weight she carried suggested that escaping death for such a time resulted in an unhealthy amount of comfort eating.

“I am not going to ask again,” Tristan said.

“Good, cos unless you produce some money, you lot aren’t going anywhere. And you pay per person for admittance, so cough up,” she said.

While Tristan talked, Henry found himself staring at the reflections of his companions in a large landscape mirror that hung at forty-five degrees between the wall and the ceiling. The two R’hard appeared as towering figures, their muscles doubling in size, their ears and noses retracting slightly to maintain their streamline look. If the R’hard looked tough, then the Alesh, dressed in a beige raincoat, looked rather frail. Silverfish skin covered every inch of his thin body. Fragile yet lethal, like a spider. Henry decided out of all of the types he had seen, even when compared to a Vampiris, it was the Alesh that worried him the most.

“Look you gym obsessed baboon, if you don’t pay up, you ain’t coming in. You ain’t gonna trick me or force me to, and if you think you can barge through you got another thing coming,” the old woman said.

Tristan looked frustrated, he obviously hadn’t imagined they would get held up at this point. The conversation appeared as if it would last a little longer, or at least until Tristan gave in and paid the woman.