New Spark (Dark Magic Enforcer Book 3) (3 page)

I headed upstairs, smile on my face. Nothing like imminent danger to cheer up an enforcer. I decided to wear a tie. It would be nice to be smart after so long wearing clothes suited to doing the gardening.

Extra Greasy, Please

Madge's is the name, greasy fry-ups is the game. I was in heaven. If you are ever in Cardiff and fancy escaping the rain—it always rains—then head to Madge's Cafe for the best, and cheapest, plate of food you are ever gonna taste.

I stood outside on cracked paving, staring at blistered paint, steamed-up windows, and the long-faded sign, inhaling traces of fried foods and the fumes of trucks.

Madge's is a bit of legend throughout Wales, but it's a well kept secret. Just for those in the know. And those in the know comprises Hidden of all description—human and myriad other species—along with Regulars like truck drivers, factory workers, and students who flock to her place in term time like trolls to bridges with the promise of a school outing crossing some time real soon.

"You coming in?" asked Dancer, popping his head back out the door, the sound of Madge shouting at her kids from inside a reminder of how much I'd missed the place. I say kids, not one is under two hundred.

"Yeah, sure." Dancer disappeared and I caught the door before it closed. I entered the mysterious world of Madge's Cafe.

The smell of a million, and soon to be one more, fry-ups assaulted my nostrils. I sighed with contentment as I stared at the greasy stains on the flock wallpaper and walked across sticky linoleum. Madge was behind the counter, familiar scowl as predictable as time itself, as she sneered at customers and shouted at her poor kids some more. I delighted in the look of her gray frizzy hair that hasn't changed for as long as I can remember.

Madge is a four-hundred-year-old witch, and she knows just about everything that goes on in our world, but she's strictly business. No magic, as far as I can tell, just runs her cafe until two in the afternoon every day as she has always done, then I assume she goes upstairs and practices her menacing facial expressions in the mirror, ready to unleash them on customers that happily come back for more time and time again.

I was one of them, although I hadn't been around much lately. What with me nearly dying from fighting vampires, and generally running around the city like a thing half-crazed because of more mind-boggling goings-on than I want to get into right now.

Heads turned as I joined Dancer and Rikka at the counter. There were a few dwarves up from the mines for some business, a lone goblin, which was rare, the Chemist was there, which was strange as usually he was still asleep after a busy night doing his stand-up or involved in his other hobby—alchemy. Most surprising of all were the two trolls sat at a table with what looked suspiciously like books spread out in front of them.

Rikka saw me frowning. "They're all getting library cards and reading. Can you believe it?"

"What? Seriously?"

"Yes. Some of them are taking courses, others have suddenly begun talking in French. French! Why would anyone want to speak French?"

"Um, because they live in France, or because it's the closest country to us. Or, maybe they want to go on vacation. Anyway, you speak it." Rikka speaks just about every language there is, but he's had plenty of time. Over nine hundred years, actually.

"That's not the point. They're trolls, and trolls don't go on holiday. They do troll things, like stand around being big and made of rock, hide under bridges, chase goats, scare kids, that sort of thing."

"When you have quite finished," said Madge giving us the evil eye. "I've got better things to do than stand around while you gossip. What do you want? Make it snappy, chop-chop."

"Hi, Madge, you are looking as delightful as ever," I said, giving her my best smile. One day it will work, I'm sure. "Have you had your hair done?"

"Shut up, Spark. I've a good mind to ban you."

My stomach somersaulted at the thought. "What!? Why? What have I done?"

"That's the point. You haven't been in lately, and I've got bills to pay." Yeah, right, like she had bills to pay. She's a witch, they don't pay bills.

"I've been recuperating, and I moved. And, well..."

"He's shacked up with Kate. He's in love," said Dancer, wiggling his eyebrows.

Madge sighed. "What do you want?"

"Three large fry-ups, please, Madge," said Rikka, generously handing over the cash. " And three teas, too."

Madge took the money—no change given—and sploshed tea into three chipped mugs from a battered metal teapot, the liquid so thick it poured like time had stood still. We thanked her, added our own milk and sugar, then took a table.

I watched the trolls suspiciously while I slurped the dark goodness and tried not to think about how many mouths had been on the chip on the rim. Madge wiped the counter with the same rag she always used, another thing that never changes in the best cafe in the world.

"Well?" asked Rikka.

"Well, what?" I hate it when he's cryptic.

"Are you up for this? You've been out of action a long time." Rikka held up a hand as I went to speak. "Yes, I know we had a lot of trouble with the vampires, not to mention the rest of it, and things still aren't back to normal, but you don't normally take so long to recover, Spark. A week or two at most."

"I'm up for it. But in case you've forgotten, I fought a two-thousand-year-old vampire, thought you and Grandma were dead, dealt with you-know-who the week before that, and you practically blew up my house."

"Don't exaggerate." Rikka licked his lips as Madge slammed a plate of food down in front of him then returned with mine and Dancer's a moment later. She threw our cutlery in our general direction and planted a bottle of ketchup on the table that looked suspiciously like the same bottle I'd seen months ago. I decided not to have sauce.

"Rikka, I appreciate the new place, I really do, and it's great to have money in the bank,"—I was loaded after selling my house. A little tip, buy and then sell ninety years later, it's the only way to guarantee a tidy profit on property—"but I needed the rest. I deserved it."

"Fine, as long as you are back now. It hasn't been the same without you, Spark," he said in a rare moment of emotion.

Rikka is like a father to me. He and Grandma practically raised me after my parents were killed when I was fourteen, and he has been in my life ever since. Rikka taught me about magic, I was his student, and I have worked for him and a few others as an enforcer ever since. But mostly him. He is the Head of the UK Councils, after all.

The Councils get confusing. Dark for humans, Hidden for everyone else, although the vampires refuse to acknowledge the Dark Council but dare not ignore the Hidden one—if they did they would be wiped out, and fast.

Rikka has been in charge for centuries, and you underestimate him at your peril. What took away almost every last ounce of my energy, and half killed me, did little more than tire him out for a few days, and that was with him using a strong Consuming spell to get out of a tricky situation by shedding his obesity.

"Anyway, eat up. I have something I want to show you once we're done here."

I looked to Dancer but he just shrugged. Seemed he was in the dark same as me. I assumed he had kept quiet about the favor I'd done him, in fact I knew he had, otherwise Rikka would be going off on one about me getting drained before I'd even begun work again, not that it was down to Rikka what I did.

I bit into a crunchy hash brown and got busy with the heart attack on a plate.

*

"Aah, that was perfect." I leaned back in my chair and patted my stomach. Madge really does make the best fry-up in the world.

"Not bad," said Dancer.

"Not bad? Are you out of your mind?" said Rikka. "This place is an institution. Madge is a culinary genius. Even the goblins can't cook like her and they..." He trailed off as something caught his attention.

"Spark, you are gonna pay for what you did."

Uh-oh. You know, I should be used to this by now, but maybe I had got lazy with my time off.

"Not now, I'm busy digesting."

"I'll digest you."

All three of us looked at Mithnite Soos. "What does that even mean?"

"Shut up. Prepare for death."

"Have you been watching movies again? I told you before that someone with your limited brain cells should stick to cartoons."

"It's time to make way for a new generation, Spark."

"Just like old times," I said, pushing back my chair which slid easily along the greasy floor.

"What, like you?" He really needs some serious practice with his comebacks.

"Outside, now," I said to Mithnite Soos. He tried to sneer but it came out like a bad Elvis impression. He followed me to the door.

"Don't be long," shouted Rikka. "We've got things to do."

The moment the door closed behind us, the sound of Madge shouting lost to the rain and the wind, I called on the smallest amount of dark magic. I felt my eyes harden and darken, not enough to snap to black when I was deep into the Empty, just enough to bring my tattoos and my body to life—there if I needed it.

Keeping a careful eye on Mithnite Soos, I undid my jacket, and nodded for him to go around the back. No need to let anyone else see our business.

Bad idea.

Mithnite Soos smiled at me as I turned the corner and three idiot kids with long hair pounced on me and hugged me tight. One even had a stick like he was from Lord of the Rings or something.

Kids! What are you gonna do?

Teach them a lesson, that's what.

Wizard Battle

Mithnite Soos stepped around me to join his friends. They stood there in the small open courtyard at the back of Madge's surrounded by soaked-through boxes, crates of bottles, garbage cans and a smell like no other.

The kids started shaking their arms and stretching their legs like they were about to go for a run or something, striking ridiculous poses as if they thought it made them look dangerous.

"Come on, what you waiting for?" I asked, smiling at their antics.

"We're gonna get you, Spark, teach you what for. Show you how real wizards play."

"What, with those silly coats on? I told you, you've got to find your own style."

"We like it," moaned Eric, a lanky kid with a mass of orange hair that never failed to shock me.

"Whatever. Bring it on."

Mithnite Soos put a hand into the pocket of his duster—he must have been reading about wizard detectives again—and as he pulled it out I got ready. My muscles tensed, synapses firing hard as I prepared myself.

"You are going down, old man," said Mithnite with a smile.

He's the leader of this little gang of wizards-in-training, but they all think they are the leader really. You should see them squabbling over just about everything. Still, they are good kids, if a little dim at times.

I envy them. To be taught magic in this day and age is a wondrous thing. There is so much freedom, although the technology gets in the way. I know from firsthand experience that you have to be a lot more careful about what you do, and where—let your magic guard down and there is always somebody ready to snap a picture or make a recording of you with their damn smart phone.

On TV the other day, I saw a thing that said most teenagers check their phone at least one hundred and fifty times a day! Can you believe it? Nuts.

I crouched down low, ready to put the kids in their place. They copied me, thinking it gave me an advantage or something, when the truth was my belly was just cramping a little as Madge's cooking worked its way down. I wasn't used to it any longer, and its presence came as quite a shock to my system after months of wholesome cooking and fresh vegetables and fruit.

Deep in concentration, Mithnite—his real name is Kevin, but he tells everyone to call him Mithnite as he thinks it sounds more wizardly, which to be fair, it does—pulled out the chalk and said, "Me first."

"Fine, go on then. But do it properly this time."

"Of course I will!" he protested.

We moved over to a dry area beside a storage shed with a long overhang and all five of us crowded around in the dry.

I watched with interest, the act bringing back ancient memories, as Mithnite bent to his task. As he finished up I had to admit he had got a lot better since we had last played, well over nine months ago now.

"Looks pretty good, for an amateur," I said trying to keep my face stern.

"What! That's brilliant, that is." His friends all murmured their agreement.

"We'll see. It's one thing drawing a circle of protection, it's quite another to, you know... Okay, go on then."

I couldn't help smiling as Kevin, a.k.a. Mithnite Soos, took a step back, opened his long coat and spread his arms wide. It brought back so many memories.

When Rikka was teaching me how to be a wizard, and harness the powers of the Empty, I did the same kind of stuff, minus the coat, of course, and whenever I played this game with the kids it sent me back a hundred years. Times sure have changed.

Using words only he could hear, coming out garbled and nonsensical to the rest of us—which is one of the basics, as you don't want other people hearing how you cast your spells—the air darkened and the wind pushed against us in protest as reality cracked. A sonic boom deafened us for a moment as the chalk circle shimmered like it was radioactive, then a terrible smell of rotten eggs overpowered even the smell of Madge's trash.

We peered into the circle as the smoke cleared, looking down, and down, and down.

"What the hell's going on? I was in the middle of sorting out the kids and now I'm here. Who's gonna teach them how to hide a sock properly under a cushion and move it just before you look there the first few times then find it once you've given up and have thrown the other one away? Eh?"

"Hi, Illus. Wasn't expecting you," I said. This was Intus' husband—all imp names begin with I.

"Oh, hello, Spark, it's been a while. I hope Intus hasn't been giving you too many problems? My other half seems to like coming to visit you."