Swift (Strangetown Magic Book 1) (11 page)

Getting lost in your own head is a dangerous thing. I always think of myself as a witch, a Justice, it's what I've done for so long, all I've ever known. But that isn't me, is it? When people look at me they won't see anything special.

Not so different, yet my kind may as well be from another planet. I may as well have come from the Rift along with the others. And that's the problem. I am Strange and no matter how hard I try there is no escaping that undeniable fact.

I am different. I am broken, too, and I can never be like them. Those women with their children nagging them for sweets, the smiling mothers in the parks. Men kicking balls about, could that ever be Pumi? Did he have families over the centuries? What kind of lives had he lived? Was he ever happy, living in a little house, working and providing for them?

It was one hell of a long time to have lived without that, and on my dark days I think ahead far into the future and wonder how I will cope without ever experiencing uncomplicated happiness.

He'd reminded me of that, that I'm nothing special, just a woman walking next to a handsome if rather odd man, going about our lives like everyone else, and they don't know, could never know, what it's like.

Sure, life was different, Strangetown was certainly different, but only by degrees. Everyone still had to provide for their family, go to work, change nappies, mow the lawn, all that stuff. Everything else was just background noise, and it had been the same since humanity first traversed land and ocean to claim residence in new places.

The ebb and flow of humanity, races mixing, cultures integrating, or not, just stuff that went on. Some liked it, others loathed it, but above all else was regular life, getting enough to eat and a roof over your head, a bed to sleep in and if you were lucky someone to share it with.

Some days I can't stand it. I've lived so much, lost even more, and it hurts every damn time. No more, I don't want that life, I can't have it. Everyone leaves you in the end, and then you are alone again, with nothing but memories. Even they fade, get lost as new experiences push them out.

I can't even remember the faces of my first lovers, or the man I spent two decades with when I was truly young. What does that say about this life?

Probably everything that needs to be said.

What a world. What a life. What I wouldn't give to be like them.

A Game

The regular folk were returning home from their day of work or walking the dog. Many looking harried and stressed, others walked with a smile, off to the pub, maybe to get a takeaway. Pumi had opened my eyes to such things with his few words, and I took note of all this and wondered how I could forget about the Normal world so easily.

We get consumed by what we are involved in, I guess. I deal with magic and miscreants, so that's my world. Normals, they deal with mortgage payments—although a lot had defaulted when they left—getting paid, relaxing on the weekend and going to the cinema or watching TV.

When did I last go to the cinema, snuggle up on a sofa with someone and enjoy a movie? Ugh, I needed to make some serious life adjustments.

As if on cue, a thought came to me. "I need to go see someone," I said to Pumi.

"What, now? I thought we were a team?"

"Um, no, we aren't. I don't usually have a partner. For this, we will deal with it together, but I have to go see someone. It may help. Okay?"

"Okay," he nodded. "Not that I have any choice, right?"

"See, we understand each other already. I'll meet you there, about an hour?"

"No longer. The child said the man went about the same time most days, so we need to be there then if you want to see him. Not that I can see what good that will do. He's this Levick, this Fester, I'm sure."

"But I'm not, until I see him. I can't raise hell until I'm sure. One hour, I promise."

"Okay, don't be late." He stood for a moment, acting unsure, like he thought maybe we should kiss goodbye or something. Surely not? Or, maybe. "Bye." He waved and walked away.

Yes, I know, I'm an idiot at times.

I turned left at the end of the street where he'd turned right, and picked up my pace. The evening was cooling now so I spared a little magic to warm myself, just a hint, plenty of magic inside me after the meal earlier. Sure, I could have worn a sweater or a coat, but I don't like the feel. I always itch something terrible if my arms are covered. Gotta have a few perks to being a witch.

I didn't have far to go, and I was glad for it. Somehow it was hard to believe it was the same day I'd been chased by the troll and watched life being eradicated by its timeless foot, but it was, and I knew I'd pay for it. Best to keep going, find out as much as I could now. I'd never sleep otherwise and I'd be in an unfamiliar place. I like my routine. Need it.

I smoked a cigar while I walked and thought, trying to put the day into order and make sense of the mess. Would Fester really be lying about Pumi? Stupid question. He was, unless he was a complete fool and had himself been duped. And he wasn't that kind of person, trust me. Plus the description by Pumi had matched.

Was he being coerced somehow? Possible, everyone has skeletons in their closet and I doubted he was any exception, but that didn't ring true either. The most likely answer was the most obvious—he was playing me and involved in this child's death. He wanted to cover it up. The only question was why?

"Hey, watch where you're going?"

Coming out of my reverie, I realized I was being watched closely by a group of young girls. I was in the road, using it as most people did now. Even though they were often crowded with bicycles, it became a habit and it's everyone for themselves. But I was in a side street, a quiet place, so thought nothing of it. Neither did the kids by the look of it.

The group of girls pouted at me, looking angry, annoyed, or worried at the reaction an adult would have to being yelled at. The girl that had shouted at me put her hands on her hips and said, "Well?"

"Well, what?" I was nonplussed. They didn't appear to have any games or toys with them, no bikes or anything like that.

"You're stood in our game. We're playing hopscotch."

Looking where she pointed, I saw a series of squares in a pattern, numbers in each. I had no idea what that meant. "What's hopscotch?" So I was out of touch. You try keeping up with everything when the years go by in the blink of an eye.

"You're stupid." The other girls gasped and the braver ones tittered behind their hands.

"Am not."

"Are too.

"Am not. Fine, how do you play? Bet I can beat you, bet I can beat you all."

"Yeah, right. You're an old lady. You must be at least forty."

If only they knew. "Let's bet. If I win then you say sorry for being mean. If you win then I will, um?" What did kids want these days?

"You will buy us sweets."

"You're on."

Fifteen minutes later I was sweating from jumping onto squares and seriously out of pocket at the corner shop.

I think it was probably the most fun I have had in my entire life.

Time was getting on and I didn't want to be late meeting Pumi—I really didn't want to miss the opportunity. I walked fast. I still had somebody to see, but I couldn't shake the game of hopscotch. What joy to have no more worry than playing games and wondering if your mum will call you for bedtime rather than let you play until dark.

I didn't even know they still did that, assuming everyone would be inside because of the Strange, but, of course, that's mostly my world, my contact with the darker side. Mostly everyone, Normal, Strange, whatever, aren't so bad, I guess.

Visiting Old Friends

The increase in magic across Strangetown, spreading out from ground zero, meant things went a little skewed in many Strange minds, their magic distorting, out of control, especially in those less adept, and it led to frequent cleanup operations and a lot of people getting into trouble.

One thing had bugged me ever since it had happened. What exactly was it? And how the hell had it happened? Okay, that's two things, but basically it boiled down to the same thing. Find out what it really was, and you knew how it happened.

There was endless speculation, respected mages and witches appearing on numerous TV shows, talking like they understood the whole thing when they were just blowing hot air out their asses. Nothing more than sound bites to advertise their latest books that captivated the world and led to them becoming as famous as pop stars.

I'm sure that if the planes and the trains and coaches would come anywhere near Strangetown then we'd be overcome with tourists, but transportation is a major issue as many airlines won't let their planes even enter the country now because of a few issues with the djinn and other less than welcoming incidents.

Until now, what I hadn't found the time for was to visit Gravel and see if he could shed light on the whole thing. Personally, I'd assumed it was to do with Strange being known to the world, a buildup of magical forces if you will, finally causing a tear between our world and theirs, and that's the explanation I settled on, I guess. But all the madness of late was making me question this opinion, so I wanted answers from a man I trusted implicitly.

Tukutli-Ninurta Gravel, known by all as just Gravel, is tech-obsessed. He runs a very successful store selling just about anything to do with technology. It's a huge place, almost warehouse sized, and people come from far and wide to browse the gadgets, get good deals on purchases, and the most valuable commodity of all, information. Gravel knows it all, and if he doesn't then a member of his team does.

He doesn't seem to have been hit too hard by the Rift, even though it means a long trip through the city without a car, and people still drive from other cities to buy from him, regardless of the risks involved.

Gravel is what you would call old by any standards, even ours. An ancient Assyrian that has followed so much of humanity's history—and I get the feeling played a part in a lot of it—that he's like a walking encyclopedia. He doesn't talk about his past much, many older ones don't, and I guess that's their business. Maybe they've seen too much, seen history repeat over and over again, that they despair. Maybe he just can't remember, but he always knows what's happening in the world at the moment, and I like him.

He's also a cheeky bugger and if you aren't careful he'll pinch your bum and try to grab anything that he really shouldn't. How he can still be so randy after so long is as much a mystery as the man himself. He's a charmer, though, and always has a young girl on his arm or lurking somewhere close by, and it's not hard to see why, if you like that kind of thing.

His store stays open 24/7 to cater to Normal and Strange that prefer to come out at night, a very good business plan and one adopted by more and more stores over recent years as laws were relaxed so much we didn't have to follow them here any more anyway. As I entered, I caught sight of him over by a display of very large TVs, talking to a group of excited trainee wizards I knew by sight but not by name.

I don't know what they were more in awe of, him or the TVs, but the way they looked to him with reverence as he gave them the spiel told you all you needed to know about Gravel. His skin is dark, rich and lined with age that would mark him as late forties rather than four thousand, with a long black ponytail that reaches past his behind, held in place with a gold band probably worth more than the entire stock of his store it's so old and rare, and his whole demeanor is one of ancient royalty. I wouldn't be surprised if that were true.

He's a little skinny, tall and angular, sharp shoulders matching a slender nose as if he picked them to complement each other. But it's the eyes that draw you. Dark lashes as though he wears mascara, deep brown to match his skin, and then he goes and spoils it all by wearing the universal superstore worker outfit. A short-sleeved white shirt with a name tag, a pair of nondescript black trousers with a crease as sharp as his nose, and shoes to make anyone with even a hint of fashion sense want to lie down and cry.

Somehow he manages to pull it off, and it's all part of the mystique. But still, he could make an effort!

I felt happy, watching as he held up a hand to stop the kids jabbering on, and turned to me and smiled. He nodded to the door at the back of the store and I wandered down the center aisle and went on through. He'd join me in a moment, after he'd finished making his sales.

In the canteen, I poured a cup of coffee—he always has the best. He must have been on form as less than two minutes later he came through, eyes shining with mischief, arms wide, definite hug time.

"You just keep your hands above the waist," I warned, hugging him tight.

"Above the waist but at the front?" he asked, eyes roaming.

"Just no touching anything naughty, you dirty old man."

"It's what keeps me looking young, but I think of you more as a daughter, you know that."

"I know." He did, it was true, and he is something of a father figure. For all the banter, I know he wouldn't dream of trying anything inappropriate. "It's good to see you, Gravel."

"Been way too long, my child, but I understand. These are trying times for us all."

"It doesn't seem to have affected business for you. Things good?"

Gravel poured himself a cup of coffee and indicated one of the chairs around a cheap table. "As always. People want their gadgets, and actually sales are booming, especially for TVs. What with all the larger than human Strange that are in the city, they want the biggest screen possible. Happy times." He rubbed his slender hands together, each finger adorned with a ring he'd picked up through the ages.

"That's great. Make hay while the sun shines, and all that."

"You should come work for me, I'll pay you well."

It was an invitation he'd given endless times but it isn't my thing. I'm not good at sales, I have a habit of hitting people if they shout at me. Money would be nice but I've never been that bothered. Over the years people have asked me how come I'm not rich, what with living so long, and the answer is simple. If you lived to be five hundred would you be rich? What would you do to make that happen? Right. You have to have a head for business no matter your age. It's all about the drive, and I just don't have it.