Blood & Magic (2 page)

He was late, but in all honesty, Meyer didn't care. It wasn't as if he was travelling by choice, he was being summoned by a fool. Turning into Greys Inn road, Meyer pulled his collar up against the chill wind that swept around the corner of the street. Small beads of sweat formed across his brow from the minimal amount of exercise he had completed in walking this far; God, he was unfit. He was greeted by pulses of royal blue light, the iridescent hues rhythmically chasing away the dank yellow streetlight as it swept along the road. The source of the light was clear, even without Meyer's thick spectacles which, if he remembered correctly, had been left on the table in the library. In the near distance, a swarm of police cars huddled around the entrance to Greys Inn gardens as blurred fluorescent jackets ran back and forth between the vehicles and the entrance like bees collecting honey. What were they there for? Meyer could easily find out, and it would use only the most modest amount of power, but then that was exactly the type of expenditure the doctors had told him to avoid. The problem was, he was still interested. In fact, ‘unfortunately interested’ would be a good summary of his life to date.

Meyer crossed the road to avoid the blockade, but more accurately, as a vain attempt to further distance himself from the enticement of the mystery. As he passed them, he glanced back one final time as three more cars pulled up at the entrance. Whatever it was, it was big.
Enough
. There were plenty of other things to keep his mind busy without delving into human matters. For one, Wade was dragging him to Holborn Bars for some God-forsaken task and he should try to figure out what that was. Sure, he understood why Wade so obnoxious, not wanting everything to come crashing to an end on his shift, but with Meyer, he always made the extra effort to be whole heartedly insufferable. Wade made the
tough
decisions, that is what everyone repeatedly said. It was just unfortunate that he did not always make the right ones.

Meyer headed off the main road and down the street that ran beside St Alban's church, the route he'd always taken to the Bars since he was a teenager. The journey was as natural to him now as breathing. While letting his thoughts be consumed by his hatred for Wade definitely distracted Meyer from the incident at Greys Inn, it also meant that he remained ignorant to the three men in dark hooded jackets that had been following him since he entered the previous street. He was so consumed with his inner rant that he didn't even notice them quicken their pace behind him. The first Meyer knew of what was happening was the pain of his face being scraped along brick as he was shoved against the wall of the church.

“Wallet. Now,” a voice barked from behind him, the words slightly slurred, but the accent stereotypically East-end.

The flat of a blade pressed up against his face, the metal cold against his cheek, as he remained pinned to the wall. Instinctively, Meyer summoned his magus, gathering it like a fire in his chest before he let his thoughts drift outwards. A mental echo was the technical term for what he had just done and from it, Meyer knew there were three men surrounding him, two in their early thirties and the last, no older than eighteen. Their intentions were clear enough though, even without Meyer's powers. God, he hated humans.

The pressure lessened on his back, allowing his face to lift slightly from the wall, the freshly grazed flesh tingling in the night air. The cut would take forever heal at his age, but what annoyed him more was the tear he heard his jacket make. It was one of his favourites, even if tweed had not been in fashion for quite some time.

“Give us your wallet
now
, fatty.”

The man released Meyer from the wall and, spinning him around, drove him back into it again, pressing hard against his shoulder. Pain shot across Meyer's back as the distinctive sound of another tear to his jacket dropped Meyer's mood even further. This was all Wade's bloody fault for calling him out at this time of night.

On the upside, he was facing his attackers, which meant Meyer could have some fun.

“Sodding kids,” Meyer muttered under his breath. They were human, which explained, though not excused, their lack of manners. Alternates always presented an extra level of showmanship when they robbed you.

“What the hell you saying old man?” one shouted.

Old
. He didn't need to be reminded of the fact and he wasn't going to engage them in conversation for God’s sake. Meyer glanced across at the first of the would-be muggers and, for a moment, they froze.

“
In corde tuo.
”

A glimpse was all it took and he was in. Meyer turned his attention to the next man, who was shouting something at the others. Again, a glimpse and the old phrase repeated, and the second mugger was caught in the same trap as his companion. The last of the three was looking away nervously and the lack of eye contact meant, without increased effort from Meyer, he was temporarily free from his persuasion. It didn't matter, he could get him later.

“Enough? I'll give you enough, you stupid old-”

Before the youngest of the muggers could finish his sentence, he did something he did not quite understand. Casually, he turned his knife towards himself and, with all his strength, plunged it straight into his arm. His expression was priceless, a mixture of shock and confusion at what he had done. A similar expression adorned the faces of his accomplices who, correctly so, thought he was out of his mind. Confusion morphed into pain as blood poured from around the knife which remained protruding oddly from the wound.

The man screamed as he stumbled to the floor, desperately trying to pull the knife from his arm, which to him felt like it was set in stone. What he didn't know, was that he wasn't actually making any sound at all, his mouth stretched wildly as he howled without noise. It would probably have been enough to stop there, but Meyer wanted them to pay for the damage they had caused, both to his face and the jacket. He focused his attention on the second attacker and, like a puppet, the thief's arm lifted into the air, his blade pointed downwards. Meyer could feel him fighting his influence, his thoughts battling his own muscles, but he was too weak willed to break Meyer's hold. Frenetically, he attempted to hold back his own arm, to unclasp the knife his fingers gripped so tightly, but it was no good. In a single thought, Meyer persuaded him to send the blade slicing down into his own thigh. The man collapsed to the floor, writhing with silent screams.
Persuaded
, what a wonderful term for what he had just done. Everyone avoided the ancient terms of course, magus now being treated as a scientific principle, but to Meyer it was a far more eloquent way of describing what had happened. He had persuaded them, just via telepathy rather than words.

The last man ran into the darkness and out of sight. Meyer considered chasing him, but decided it wasn't worth the energy. The two remaining men continued to wail as blood splattered across the pavement. Meyer took a careful step back to avoid getting any on his shoes.

“What
have
you been up to?” said a voice from the corner of the church. In front of Meyer stood a small, fat woman with curly grey hair that stuck-out absent-mindedly from her head. Although she was quite round, she had a glint in her eye that said she would merrily challenge anyone who crossed her path. She wore a grey cardigan that appeared to be at least two sizes too big, the material coming to an end just above her knees, revealing creased blue trousers and scuffed brown boots that had, like all the clothes Ruth wore, a
rustic
look to them.

“Ruth my dear, the whole point of this journey is that it is made alone. What are you doing here?”

“Made alone?” Ruth said, in a thick West Country accent and with an exaggerated look of puzzlement.

“Never mind. Let's be going, we wouldn't want to keep Wade waiting. Mind the blood,” Meyer said.

“My, you have made a bit of a mess my lovely,” she said, giving one of the muggers a slight kick with her boot. “Do you mind? I'm trying to get past here.”

The pair climbed over the two bodies, who were still rolling around in pain. The silent trick Meyer used on the thieves was his favourite, if only he could use it on Wade. The little scene would have been quite the incident without it and the last thing Meyer needed was a nosey neighbour kicking up a fuss. He inspected the stitching on his jacket once more and sighed.

“I can fix that,” Ruth said.

Meyer smiled and Ruth's face lit up in response. Arm in arm, the two rotund shadows continued on into the darkness, towards the building that could only be found by those who knew where it was.

Meyer and Ruth made their way across the courtyard, surrounded by the skylights that illuminated the basement floors below. At the centre stood a glass dome, confined by intricate oil lamps that cast amber light across the courtyard stones. The Inquisition had made Holborn Bars their home since its erection in 1878, although it looked different back then. Meyer first saw it after the Victorian Gothic building was remodelled in the 1930s, the result resembling a grand sandcastle. The original entrances were still in use on three sides of the building, the main one passing underneath the tower which held Wade's office, creating a secondary courtyard of its own.

One was always gratified and amazed how you found your way to Holborn Bars. Meyer still didn't quite understand the science behind it, but it was a place you just
didn't notice
. It wasn't invisible, camouflaged, or anything horribly technological like that. The place just never caught anyone's attention enough to be seen or thought about. Meyer remembered first being shown the way in by Ruth aged seventeen and the feeling of dread that followed when she said that from then on, he would be expected to let his subconscious guide him there. That, naturally, had turned out to be quite the task. It is a leap to let your subconscious completely take over, requiring a level of trust and belief most people struggle with. After his first attempt took him over two hours to find the place, Meyer thought this a ridiculous building to use as a headquarters, even for an organisation as secretive as the Inquisition. Eventually, his time to travel here reduced and, for the past sixty years, like all visitors to Holborn Bars, Meyer had taken exactly the same route, even if he wasn’t sure of all the details of it himself.

At the other side of the courtyard, glass doors opened to a series of staircases that led around the building. Holborn Bars was a maze of corridors and rooms, with nobody sure what was ever going on in every part of it. Acknowledging the guard with the vacant expression, who appeared to have been on duty since 1910, Meyer and Ruth walked to the back of the staircase. Further concealment meant the area was only visible if viewed from the right perspective and, as the pair walked around, the black marble stairs revealed themselves. The alternate world was built on principles like this, only being able to see what others deemed you should and nothing more. To Meyer, the building symbolised everything wrong with the order, although most in the community remained ignorant of that fact. Trust was not something associated with the Inquisition, even by those who are a part of it. Threats kept their world safe and deals with the devil helped them survive.

Meyer and Ruth reached the bottom of the stairs and continued along the dimly lit corridor as it wrapped around the edge of the council chamber. Moonlight cascading through the skylights cast long shadows from the ornamental suits of armour that lined the walls of the corridor, their silhouettes contorted by the uneven stone floor. The corridor opened to a wide sitting room, which was filled with a juxtaposition of plump leather chairs, dark oak furniture and priceless alternate artefacts, giving the place the feel of a gentleman’s club turned magic shop. That metaphor wasn’t far off, some of the doyens waiting around almost fitted the Hollywood idea of magic, with their draping long robes and weary expressions. At the end of the room stood double black doors leading into the council chamber, intricately inscribed with hundreds of runes that, from a distance, appeared to be nothing more than random patterns. Naturally, the truth was quite the opposite. The room was one of the safest locations in London, more wards protecting it than anyone had attempted to count. It was by these doors that the majority of people clustered, the gentle hum of conversation drifting across the room as everyone waited for the meeting to begin.

“Alice, my lovely!” Ruth said, as they entered the entrance hall.

Her arms open, Ruth ran to a woman on their left and squeezed her skinny frame as tight as she could. Alice Harvey-Smith was one of the first Inquisitors Ruth trained and, due to her uncontrollable mouth, Meyer knew more about Alice than he cared to. The two exchanged a further hug as Alice bent down to accommodate Ruth's height. She was tall and slender, the epitome of a modern businesswoman, her black hair cut perfectly straight as if in an homage to Cleopatra. Alice appeared innocent enough, but Meyer knew otherwise. She was one of the most successful female criminal barristers in the country, having studied at Cambridge on a scholarship before joining a prestigious chambers in London, and was, possibly, the most feared Inquisitor in recent history. Meyer always thought of Alice as a panther, beautiful to behold, but dangerous to her core.

The sound of footsteps coming to a stop behind him, made Meyer turn. Helena Stevens stood in front of him, looking as haggard and prickly as ever. She was the head of the damn government initiative to oversee their world and as such, always carried an air of superiority that challenged even Wade's. The government helped keep the existence of the alternate population a secret, covering up the media debacles the Inquisitors would sometimes cause. The issue was, their role extended far beyond its original purpose. Helena took over as head of the Department of Alternate Studies six months ago, a department with a government budget ten times of what was officially declared in the treasury accounts. What went on there remained a mystery, but its goal was a mixture of keeping secrets secret and something they liked to brand as ‘utilising alternate methods in the war against terror’. Her predecessor had been woefully ill-equipped to cope with their kind, which had cost him dearly. All credit to Helena, she had not entered this unprepared. She was a bulldog if ever there was one and Meyer thought, chosen as a fair match for Wade. She had even mastered mental blocking, which said something about her resolve and determination. Meyer often watched Wade trying to read her and took enormous amounts of pleasure when he failed, pearls of sweat glistening on his head as frustration overtook his wrinkled face.

“My dearest Helena,” Meyer said, as genuinely as possible for the time of night.

“What are you doing here? You aren't part of the council.”

“And it is lovely to see you again too.”

“Wade is late.”

“Wade is always late.”

“We don't all have time to waste,” Helena said, glancing around the room.

“I'm sure
we
don't.”

“Your services are required tomorrow, the usual car will be sent. We have a selective mute for you to interview,” Helena said.

A selective mute meant a suspect or interviewee held by the department that they could not break using human methods of interrogation. That was where Meyer's particular skill set came in handy.

Helena turned and walked away, not waiting for any form of a reply. As she left, Meyer noticed the young man who had been standing beside her, following in her shadow like a dog with its master. He didn't recognise his face, but he appeared the government sort. A well tailored suit made from a dark material, perfectly groomed from his side swept hair to his finely trimmed beard and built like someone who incorporates the gym, of all things, into their daily routine. Meyer wondered how much
training
he had been given by Helena. He was guessing not a lot, which meant that perhaps tonight wouldn't be so dull after all.

Ruth joined Meyer again with Alice in tow and the three engaged in further polite conversation, Ruth speaking enough for all of them. Meyer let the conversation drift over his head, his attention was better spent watching Helena, or more accurately, watching the reactions of those she approached. To say they became tense would have been an understatement, hopping from foot to foot as they fidgeted nervously, their bodies turned slightly away as to make best of any opportunity for escape.

The door to the council chamber opened and everyone was ushered inside, that was, apart from Meyer and Ruth. Before Helena reached the door, Meyer called out to Helena's assistant, “Boy?”

The man turned, the two making eye contact for a brief second.

“
Et cogitationibus tuis
,” Meyer said under his breath, before coughing to conceal his words. “Good luck boy.”

The man took a double take, confused by the interruption. He turned to ask Helena, but she was gone, having already made her way into the chamber without him. He ran into the room to catch up with her, oblivious to what had happened.

If one could see magic, and there are those in the alternate community that can, then this spell would have been anything but concealed. Lucky for Meyer, there were no Binders here to catch him. To them, after the glow of purple in Meyer’s eyes, they would see the spell ignite as a wisp of fire and smoke, twisting across the room as it homed in on its target. To Helena’s assistant, the whole spell appeared invisible, bar the goosebumps it produced down his neck.

“Excellent,” Meyer thought.

This man, Charles, for he now knew his name, would be useful. Wade might not have wanted Meyer to be in the meeting, but just because he couldn't enter the room himself, it didn't mean he wouldn't be able to find out what was going on. What he was doing was, of course, against magus rule. In fact, if he were found out, it would probably result in his death. Meyer pondered the fact for only a second before deciding that he was old enough not to care anymore. Life was short and making it a fraction shorter at his age made very little difference.

“Why on the earth have they brought us in, when they are gonna have one of their secret little meetings. Made to stand out here like lemons we are. A right couple of melons-no wait, did I say lemons before?” Ruth said.

“Oh
do
shut up woman.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“If you want to come and take a seat with me, I can tell you what is happening inside.”

Ruth battled with herself for a moment, no doubt struggling to resist the urge to issue some retribution for Meyer's rudeness. The two settled into a pair of armchairs at the corner of the room, hidden in the shadows between the skylights.

“That reminds me,” she said. “Aniseed twist?”

She held out a crumpled bag of red sweets to Meyer, the smell of aniseed immediately filling the air with an unmistakably pungent smell. It would be rude not to take one and besides, Meyer rarely declined an offer of food. Unwrapping the boiled sweet, he made himself comfortable in the chair and calmed his mind, ready to enter Charles' consciousness.

Meyer passed through some minor resistance, Charles had had
some
training, but it was at the early stages, so he would never know what was happening. Charles was nervous, that was the first thing Meyer noticed. The fact he preferred to be called Charlie was the second. His favourite food was lasagne which, as he was a little hungry, he was thinking of now, and lastly, an emotion Meyer knew all too well. Love. Charlie loved his fiancé in ways even his mind could not make sense of. However, fear loomed over his relationship; his government job meant they were growing more and more distant. A tough situation and something Charlie was at a loss how to fix, that part of his life flickering across his consciousness like a cold breeze, constantly nagging at him. Charlie hated Helena, which made Meyer smile to himself, although he knew that not to be an exclusive club.

“What's going on?” Ruth said.

“Dear, please be patient,” Meyer replied.

“Don't you be calling me
dear
.”

Infiltrating someone’s mind like this is a basic part of all mentalist training, it was the subtitles of the art where the skill lay. The human mind has to somehow comprehend the millions of bits of information it is constantly bombarded with, and if you add magic to the complexity of the neural network, well, the whole idea of 'consciousness' takes an interesting turn.

Stepping through a door, Meyer found himself on a balcony overlooking the Thames. Leant against the railing was Charlie, completely focused on the view. Meyer moved quietly behind him, trying not to alert him to his presence. Standing next to the manifestation of Charlie's conscious thought, the pair watched a live stream of what Charlie was experiencing that stretched out across the sky.

The council chamber housed a toroid table around 5 meters in diameter that comfortably sat thirty people. It was dark, apart from the light falling from the domed skylight above that lit the empty centre of the room and reached as far as the bodies of those around the table, their faces left in shadow. Charlie took a deep breath. He was trying to contain his nervousness, not wanting Helena to see him scared.

“I have called this meeting to address an issue we can no longer avoid,” a voice called out, slow and measured, each word carefully considered.

Wade was a gaunt man in his late sixties, with a bald head and eagle like nose. His grey eyes sunk deeply into his head forming large shadows under his brow.

“Now is the time of change.”

Mutterings rippled around the room as Charlie, to Meyer's annoyance, focused on Helena's reaction rather than looking at Wade. Time had not been kind to her face, her skin clinging tiredly to her cheek bones that had, perhaps, made her attractive at one time. Helena’s lip raised into a slight confident smile at the news, as if she knew everything that was about to be said.

“The Inquisition is in great peril. We find ourselves with the fewest number of Inquisitors of the past one-hundred years, relying more and more on them at a time when the threats are numerous.”

“What is going on?” Ruth said. She had sat patiently, or at least her version of patient, for the past 5 minutes, all the time rustling the bag of sweets so viciously that Meyer wondered what would be left inside.

“Wade is getting into bed with Helena,” Meyer said.

“He's doing what?” Ruth said. “Are you sure you are-”

“No, of course not! Just give me a minute.”

Meyer felt his arm go dead. He always forgot how bloody strong Ruth was, although he probably deserved that.

Wade continued on, “The alternate community is split, with Deliverance radicalising more and more members by the day. There is an expanding anti-government movement amongst our population and, due to a large proportion of our time now spent addressing issues of
national security
, we-”