Cursed (21 page)
Authors: Benedict Jacka
“Not exactly.” I clicked through the channels until I found the right one, typed a three-digit code, then settled down to wait.
A voice spoke through the radio link. “North entrance in sight.”
Garrick’s voice answered. “Hold position. Wait for the scan.”
A hiss, silence, then Garrick again. “External clear. Move to breach.”
“Moving.”
“Look,” Meredith said quietly, pointing. I followed her finger and saw shadows closing on the warehouse, converging on the doors.
The radio spoke again. “Alpha team at north entrance.”
“Bravo team, south entrance.”
“Setting charges.”
A silence, then Garrick’s voice. “Alpha team, charges ready. Bravo, what’s your status?”
“This is Bravo, charges set.”
“Copy that. All teams check in.”
“Alpha team standing by.”
“Bravo team standing by.”
“Charlie team standing by.”
Garrick spoke again. “Weapons free. We are weapons free.” His voice was calm. “Breach on my mark. Five … four … three …”
Meredith was staring down at the shadows at the south end of the warehouse. I put my hand to her head and gently turned her face away. “Cover your eyes.”
“Two … one …
mark!
”
I closed my eyes just as the charges detonated and saw the white flash even through my eyelids. The roar came a fraction of a second later, and I opened my eyes to see a cloud of dust swirling about what had been the south door. Shadowy figures moved through the opening, lights flickering, searching for targets.
The radio crackled. “South clear.”
“Contact north!”
I heard the stammer of three-round bursts:
ratatat, ratatat
. An instant later sullen red light flickered from the windows and there was a piercing scream.
“Man down!”
“—hit, hit, we—”
More gunfire, followed by a flat
boom
. “Taking fire, taking fire!”
“Bravo, tossing flashbangs, fire in the hole!”
The warehouse lit up with white flashes and two deafening bangs. The wounded man continued to scream as Garrick’s voice spoke over the radio. “Move up!”
Lights flashed again, blue flickering against red over the staccato of the gunfire. I could sense spells being thrown, full-strength battle-magic intended to cripple or kill. Voices spoke over the radio, shouting, giving orders, drowning each other out. There was a final roar and a blue flash, followed by an ominous silence.
“Cease fire, target is down, cease fire.”
Garrick’s voice. “Bravo, take the stairs. Alpha, secure our position.”
“Bravo, moving up.”
Through the walls, I felt the signature of a gate spell. “Movement!” someone called.
“Flash the room. Go, go, go!”
Another white flash and a bang, this one slightly muffled. More gunfire and the distant thump of something heavy. Then the gunfire stopped. The warehouse below was silent but for the distant patter of boots.
“Clear left.”
“Clear right. First floor clear.”
“Ground floor clear.”
“Bravo, report.” It was Garrick’s voice.
“We got—” There was a burst of static. “—went in.”
“Bravo, repeat.”
“Negative, negative. We hit him, he fell through.”
“Confirm status of Target Two.”
“Evac’d. He’s gone.”
“Target One’s breathing.”
“Confirm that,” Garrick said. “Lock the place down. Charlie team, you’re on medic duty.”
The radio traffic died away. The man who’d been wounded earlier started screaming less often, then went quiet. I realised I’d been holding my breath and let it out. Meredith was still tense and the two of us stayed there, watching and waiting.
I
nfantry combat doesn’t end with a bang or fanfare. It draws out into a long, tense silence as the ones still holding the field search to make sure the enemy’s gone. Only as the minutes tick by and the silence stretches out does the tension ease.
After fifteen minutes Belthas’s men began to emerge, making a sweep of the immediate area. Once they began looting the warehouse, I knew the battle was over. The vans drove into the industrial area, parking near the warehouse with their back doors opened and turned towards it, and a steady stream of men moved back and forth.
The wounded were brought out first. I suspected it was public relations on Belthas’s part rather than genuine
concern for the men but it made sense either way. Two were still walking, while the third was on a stretcher. I could see burns down his left side but he wasn’t moving.
Next came items. I couldn’t make out any pattern in the things Belthas’s men were taking from the warehouse and I suspected they were just grabbing anything that wasn’t nailed down. There were clothes, weapons, and papers. One thing in particular caught my eye: a set of spikes about the length of my hand. Light reflected off them with a flicker of purple but before I could get a close look they were stowed away.
And finally they brought out Rachel. She was on a stretcher, pale and unconscious in the artificial light. Garrick and two other men were guarding her as the stretcher was wheeled out and lowered behind the van. Rachel’s mask had been lost somewhere in the fighting and I could almost make out her features, her hair spread out like a fan on the pillow. I stood next to Meredith, looking down through the tall windows over the industrial park, watching the men bustling around Rachel’s still form as she was lifted into the van. The doors shut behind her with a
clang
.
No one else came out. Rachel had been captured but Cinder had escaped. I considered asking Belthas what had happened but decided against it. They were a lot of men with guns down there, and now that Rachel and Cinder were gone, they didn’t have any need to stay quiet. It wasn’t that I
expected
Belthas to have me shot just to tie off a loose end; I just didn’t see any reason to give him the opportunity. I caught a glimpse of Belthas getting into one of the vans next to Garrick and the three vans pulled out one after another. The growl of their engines grew louder as they passed our building, then softer, until they’d faded into silence.
M
eredith and I descended the building and left the industrial park by the front entrance. The security post was empty. We walked back to the station in silence.
Only when the glow of the railway station was in front of us did I speak. “Want to get some dinner?”
“I can’t,” Meredith said. “I need to sort out a new place to stay.”
I hesitated. “You can use my flat if—”
“Thanks,” Meredith said. “But I need to get some other things done as well.”
“Okay.”
There was the crunch of tyres on gravel and as I looked into the road I saw a taxi pulling up. The driver signalled through his window and Meredith waved at him before turning back to me. She gave me a quick hug, then pulled away. “Will you be okay getting back?”
“Uh, sure. What about—?”
“I’ll be fine. Thank you for everything.”
Meredith walked quickly to the taxi and slipped inside. It pulled away and I watched the red lights disappear into the distance. It turned a corner and vanished, and I was alone.
I took the train home. My flat was empty and I went to bed.
I
woke up early next morning, heart racing and breath quick. Another nightmare. I don’t get them as often now but when I do they’re just as bad. The sounds of the London morning drifted through the window. My flat was quiet.
There was a message on my phone from Belthas, congratulating me on the successful completion of the mission. I skimmed it and hit Close. I didn’t feel like talking to Belthas.
The next message was from Sonder; he’d started research on the monkey’s paw but was having trouble finding all the books he needed. I closed that too and looked to see if there was anything from Meredith or Luna. There wasn’t.
I reviewed and tested my home defences. I had breakfast, went over my stock of items, and laid out the most useful ones in case of another attack. Finally, at nine o’clock and with nothing else to do, I opened my shop.
The morning dragged. I enjoy running my shop most of the time but nothing makes work less fun than wishing you
were somewhere else. The customers annoyed me more than they should have, and I kept glancing at my phone to see if I had a message from Meredith or Luna. Finally, at noon, I gave up, shooed out the last few stragglers, and flipped the sign to
CLOSED
.
I was restless. Something was bothering me and I didn’t know what.
I didn’t want to work but pushed myself to do it anyway. Sonder’s message had included a list of books that were supposed to contain references to the monkey’s paw so I put on my coat and went out into central London to look for them. I didn’t expect it to be easy, and it wasn’t—the books Sonder had listed were obscure as hell. But finding a book in a bookshop, even an obscure book, is a lot easier than finding a person in a city.
Two and a half hours and twelve bookstores later, I’d tracked down seven out of the nine books on Sonder’s list and decided to call it a day. I went home to my desk upstairs and pulled the first volume from its parcel. It was old and smelt of dust. A third of the way through, I found what I was looking for.
…the First Age, where the monkey god was brought to battle by Morthalion the Destroyer. For three days and three nights they battled but the monkey god’s claws could not pierce Morthalion’s shield. Neither could Morthalion’s death magic slay the god, for being divine, its spirit could not be parted from its body by mortal means.
Seeing this, on the fourth day Morthalion reached down and tore away a part of his own shadow, from which he formed himself a blade of darkness, slim as a leaf and sharper than the frost. Wielding it, he struck off the god’s foot, then before the two could be reunited Morthalion burnt the foot in black fire until it crumbled to ash. Again and again Morthalion struck, cutting and
burning feet, legs, arms, head, and finally body. At last only one part of the god remained: a single paw.
Morthalion could not destroy the paw and instead bound it up with a white thread, enspelling it so that all should forget the monkey god’s name, and thus his power could never be restored. But the monkey god’s spirit lived on within the paw, and survives to this day, filled with hate for the race that destroyed him.
The passage ended. I flipped to the end, but the monkey’s paw wasn’t mentioned again. I closed the book and picked up the next.
—of wish-granting items, little needs to be said. Their powers are generally overrated and greatly inferior to those of True Mages, who—
I rolled my eyes and tossed the book aside. The next one, titled
Encyclopaedia Arcana
, was thicker and the writing denser.
Wish magic, or desire magic, works quite differently. It magnifies the power of speech: Rather than the words being a trigger, it is the speaking of the wish itself that rewrites reality.
Stories abound of carelessly or ambiguously worded wishes causing disaster; these legends, unfortunately, have a firm basis in fact. While wish magic will not misinterpret or “twist” a wish, neither will it take into account context or intention, and phrasing is absolutely crucial. Clear, simple sentences are best; convoluted wording often results in too weak a “lens” for the magic to focus through, and vague wishes bring totally unpredictable results. Many mages blame such results upon malicious intelligence on the part of the granting power, but this is inaccurate. Wish magic is essentially neutral.
It grants only what is asked; nothing more and nothing less.
There is a qualification, however. Most sources of wish magic have individual prohibitions against wishing for a certain outcome, a common example being the taking of a life. Should the user attempt a forbidden wish, the magic will fail to take effect or rebound upon the wisher. There is usually no way of discovering such limitations except through trial and error, making such experimentation a highly dangerous process.
More than any other, wish magic is capable of creating extraordinarily powerful effects; however, experienced mages generally consider it more trouble than it is worth.
