Necronote (Notes of Necrosoph Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  A Warning

  Note

  I Need a Drink

  Remarkable Zoo

  A Sentinel

  Dastardly Fridge

  Necropub

  Garden Party

  Reminiscing

  Rev Her Up

  Camping

  Full Moon Blues

  Wakey, Wakey

  Stakeout

  Rest and Wait

  Weird Elevator

  Truth Dawns

  A Little Help

  The Constable

  Absolutely Not

  Besties

  Kill Me Now

  Happy Unicorn

  Mother-in-Law Blues

  Bitch Witches

  Adoring Grannies

  Risky Questions

  On the Road Again

  New Friends

  Forging Ahead

  A Stranger

  More Revelations

  First World Problems

  Dead Dudes

  Onward

  Birds

  What a Lovely Chap

  A Soggy Scene

  Utter Panic

  A Girl, A Lion

  A Long Night

  Leaving Bitch Town

  Life Returns

  Joy

  Where We Have a Chat

  Copyright © 2021 Al K. Line

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  A WARNING

  I write dark characters, but always with a lighter side too. This time things are a little different. Or maybe I should say a little more extreme. I've upped the snark, the banter, the bad jokes (trust me, they are the worst), but most importantly of all, hence this introduction and warning, the absolutely foul language and the violence. The swears are there from page 1, the violence too. The brutality, and the descriptive nature, grows towards the latter third of the book. Please bear that in mind. Ugh, makes me shudder!

  At its core, the Necroverse—and the many stories I hope to populate it with—is about people. Family, human interaction. Everyday struggles like discovering who ate the last biscuit, and why do tumble dryers have to beep so damn much? The normal conversations we all have, and the way we act often under the direst of circumstances. But there is a deep and undeniable underlying tone of violence, verging on madness, in the Necroverse. It's at the heart of everyone's lives.

  We have magic, all manner of supernatural creatures, and an awesome world to explore and discover together. But rather than fight scenes that go on for chapter after chapter, the violence is usually brief, very brutal, and as grounded in reality as I can make it without ever having been stabbed in the heart or blasted by a freaky looking witch. The true heroes of this world are the myriad misfits—human, animal, and everything in-between—who inhabit a universe that may seem all-too-familiar. One we can all imagine as possible in the not-too-distant future. Especially after recent worldwide events, and the ever-present threat of climate change and the problems this will undoubtedly bring. Let's be honest, they're already here.

  It's not about preaching, though. Don't ask me how to solve the world's problems. I find it hard enough to figure out what socks to wear, and I have two styles of pants (I'm British so I mean underwear) to choose from now, which causes issues, but we can all picture a future something like the one presented in the Necroverse.

  Soph, our hero, but let's get real and call him an anti-hero of the truest kind, is a bad man in many ways. And no, he is not a wizard, at least according to him. He has no fireballs to sling, but he has his own gifts, which you will discover as we go. Soph loves his family, and when you peel back the protective layers of sometimes unhinged violence, his heart's in the right place. But this is warts-and-all, so expect to get annoyed with him. He's making his way through best he can, but he's got a lot of issues, and more than his fair share to deal with.

  There is too much larking about for this first-in-series to be classed as Grimdark, but there is a darkness, albeit often hidden under the light of Soph saying stupid stuff and cats called Mr. Wonderful (wouldn't they all be called that if you gave them the option?).

  Please enjoy the first in the Notes of Necrosoph series. I think it can take us all somewhere special. As the books unfold, we'll learn more about this world together, watch it change, see characters we have learned to love deal with untold problems, maybe lose some too, and if you want to get new release notifications then please sign up for news of new notes.

  The plan, if enough people read and I can justify continuing this series over the long term, which I hope will happen, is to see everyone grow and change over many years in the Necroverse, and we might even get some spin-off series. Drop me a line if you want to suggest anything; I'm always open to reader's ideas.

  This first book has already been my most challenging work—I really need a wiki already—but I think this world might be something just that little bit special. I hope you will join me for the ride.

  Don't forget—swears aplenty (and I mean a lot), violence to make you squirm, jokes that are even worse, and really fucking stupid unicorns.

  Stay jiggy,

  Al

  p.s. There's a dragon too. You gotta have a dragon.

  NOTE

  "For crying out loud, Mr. Wonderful, how many times have I told you not to bring your, and I'm definitely doing air quotes here, your scumbag, 'prizes' into the damn house?"

  Mr. Wonderful dropped his "prize" and glared at me in the way only a cat can. Full of utter contempt, enviously secure in the knowledge he was far superior to any other living creature, me in particular.

  "Maybe you should actually look at the 'prize' I just brought you," he said in his slow Southern drawl, although he was from Essex. Somehow, he managed to do air quotes without making any kind of effort.

  I stared down at what he'd dumped on my rug, his usual place to leave the bloody, headless corpses of unfortunate creatures he'd tormented before decapitating.

  Sighing, I rocked my awesome, tatty brown recliner forward and stared at the stained rug, scene of countless crimes against nature.

  "A piece of paper? Well, beats a dead bat." My head swam, my guts churned, the old ticker beat ten times faster, and I broke into a sickly sweat, but I went along with the game we'd played way too many times before.

  "Hey, I told you that was an accident. Bats are weird to eat. It's not a piece of paper, it's a note."

  "A note?" I tried to act surprised, but my heart really wasn't in it.

  Mr. Wonderful vibed me.

  I waited. He waited. He would win, so I said, "And?"

  "And what? It's for you."

  "How'd you know that?" I asked, feigning suspicion.

  "Got your name on it, numnuts. See?" He pointed with a perfectly manicured claw at the note. I squinted and tried to read it, but it was just a blur. I grabbed my glasses then continued the charade.

  "Necrosoph."

  "Yep."

  "Where'd you get it? What's it say inside?"

  "How should I know?" he grumbled. "I'm a cat. I can't read."

  "I know that," I snapped. "But you knew it had my name on it." I was getting carried away here, so was he. Why did we continue this idiocy?

  "I may not be able
to read, but I'm not stupid."

  I let it go; sometimes he was like that.

  Against my better judgment, and still without answers as to provenance, I heaved out of my chair with a groan and several creaks, and reached for the paper. It was still crisp-looking, folded neatly in half, and incredibly white. Almost beyond white.

  I hesitated, almost sat back down, and then that's exactly what I did because I knew this was nothing good.

  "Why do we continue with this stupid game?" I asked my companion of fifty-three years.

  "We thought it would be a good idea. Lighten the mood. Make it less stressy. Remember?"

  "Well, it isn't," I told the perfectly preened pure white cat as he licked a paw then used it to rub his face. "I am the epitome of stress, and this isn't helping."

  "Suit yourself." He continued to clean himself, not caring either way what I felt or thought.

  The paper shifted on an impossible breeze, then snapped at my face and covered my mouth and nose, sealing my airways.

  I tore at it, but it was stuck fast like Duct tape. Bastard notes. I hated them more than anything. This was because I didn't open it immediately. A reminder. Soon I was on the floor, gasping, as I clawed at the paper, but to no avail.

  I rolled my eyes, pleading with Mr. Wonderful to help. He shrugged, then reluctantly swiped at the paper. It dropped to the rug in front of me and unfolded.

  After getting my breath back, I retrieved my glasses then got onto all fours and read the psychotic note. "Twinkled. Wizards. Ugh, it's that fucking app thing now, isn't it? Where's my phone?" I tapped the screen, pulled up the Necronotes app, then signed in. I typed in the two random words and waited. And waited. And waited. "What's the point of there being an app? We never used to need apps? Just an address or a coordinate, that's all you need. Bloody stupid," I grumbled. I grumble a lot. It's one of the few consistent things about me. Got to have something that keeps you going through the ages. "It's just going around in circles, this little wheel. It isn't working. It isn't loading! Crap."

  "It's so they can keep…" slurp, slurp, "…track of you. They're watching." Mr. Wonderful, and no I did not name him that, he chose it himself, rolled his eyes and stuck out his little pink tongue.

  "Will you stop licking your balls when you're talking to me?" I shouted. "And I don't want to be tracked or watched, or anything. I want to sit in my chair and chill. I want to eat a biscuit, not use a bloody app to confirm I have a nightmare looming that will make my stomach hurt for weeks after. If I even survive."

  I studied the screen again. There it was, the location highlighted on a satellite image.

  "Oh no, could this day get any worse? Look, it's bloody miles away. Out of my zone. And I need a new bike. I'll never make it. It's all, you know…?

  "Tiring?" slurped Mr. Wonderful. Apparently clean, he jumped onto the windowsill to admire his reflection.

  "Exactly!" This was getting worse by the minute. I lived a stone's throw from the Welsh border, but it was still England, and my duties encompassed both countries, but never so far as to encroach on another Necro's territory. That wasn't how it worked. The only answer was that several others had died and so my patch had grown. Joy.

  CRASH!

  I readied for the threat as my head snapped to the shattered window. A familiar long white horn protruded five feet into the room, stuck dead center on the stupid looking head of what you might otherwise mistake for a horse. Everyone else does, as horses don't have massive horns, now do they?

  The animal was grinning, a wide smile with teeth as white and perfect as the sparkly horn. Nearly as white as Mr. Wonderful.

  "Oh, for fuck's sake, Bernard! I've told you over and over again. It's a window, not a hole. This isn't your bloody stable."

  "Oops," said Bernard.

  "And look what you did to Mr. Wonderful."

  Bernard checked the room then shook his head, glass shards flying. "I don't see him."

  "Man, he's so dumb," I muttered. I pointed at his horn. Blood trickled down, pooling on Bernard's forehead. "On your horn, you numpty. You killed Mr. Wonderful."

  "Oh no, not again. He's gonna be so mad." There was true terror in Bernard's pale eyes.

  "Oh yeah, and then some," I agreed, perking up a little.

  Mr. Wonderful's limp body trembled. Blood defied gravity and trickled up the horn into his body. The lifeless form of the nasty cat slid off the shimmering spike as Bernard lowered his head, then landed on the carpet on all fours. Mr. Wonderful's eyes snapped open; he glowered at Bernard with utter menace. His claws nicked out as the feline fucker swished a paw through the air.

  "I just finished getting clean," he hissed. Bernard backed away slowly.

  "Time for a cup of tea, methinks," I said hurriedly, then scarpered into the kitchen as all hell was let loose in my living room. Bernard would be a bloody mess within seconds. Luckily, my kettle was crap and made a right racket. Not loud enough, but it helped disguise the screams. Trust me, you ain't heard nothing until you hear a unicorn scream.

  I attempted to drown out the promises of vengeance and pleads for mercy of my "pets" by humming as I stared at the kettle. Don't ever let them know I used that word. They're funny like that. All, "Animals have rights," and "We're our own person," nonsense, when I don't see them doing the shopping or paying the bills. Um, not that I do either. But I think about it, so that counts.

  The dented old kettle boiled, and boiled, and kept on boiling. Why wasn't it switching off? The steam built in the room, and the heat began to intensify. WTF? Can I say that as a three-hundred and forty-year-old man? Is it still cool? Hard to keep track. I even tried a LOL once, but it plain didn't feel right.

  Steam billowed at the ceiling. Damn, and it had just been replastered too. At least I'd used apparently wipeable paint, although that never used to be a thing mere decades ago. Soon, I became lost to the swirling patterns. So pretty. Hypnotic.

  A hand reached down through the fog and grabbed me by the throat. Ethereal, but real enough to my neck. A body soon followed, until I was suspended in the air by a bloody daemon of the most unfriendly kind.

  I sighed. This kind of crap was always happening. At least once every decade or two if I was on a spell away from the spells, haha. You just never could tell what would come with the yearly Necronote.

  At least I was a fucking menace with a blade.

  I snapped the popper on my knife sheath, pulled out an old favorite—ebony handle, damascus blade—and stabbed the bugger right in his eye then sliced off his nuts. Damn daemons did like to wave their bits about. The ball-sack dropped with a gross squelch and the daemon howled as he grabbed at his crotch with both hands.

  I was getting into the swing of things now, and I snarled as the rage and all-encompassing blood-lust took me over as it so often had before. Just like the Hulk, you really don't want to see me mad.

  Never one to ask too many questions—I'm not inquisitive by nature when it comes to other-worldly entities ruining my cup of tea—I sliced his neck deep and fast. His head lolled back and the gaping wound spat out not one but three of the beasties, each bigger and badder than the last. Like Russian dolls in reverse. My kitchen was soon as cramped as a Mini full of clowns.

  "A little help in here, guys," I shouted to the fools in the living room, but they were busy.

  I glanced at my watch nervously. My insides spasmed and I came close to tears. Damn, almost quarter to four. Where had the day gone?

  "Okay, what do you want? Make it quick. I'm in deep trouble if you guys are around in the next, oh, one minute." I was already sweating; I was so screwed it wasn't even funny.

  "The Necronote," said the biggest, baddest daemon of them all. He held out his hand. It tore through the air and snapped into his palm then danced around before settling. He handed it to me.

  "Well, that was utterly pointless," I told him. Just because I was annoyed, I launched at him, clung to his body like a limpet, and stabbed him repeatedly in the chest until leathery red
skin shredded and inside bits became outside bits. He wasn't bothered; he liked it. Laughed and moaned. You can't win with these guys; they don't play fair. I got bored and jumped off, watching as guts and whatnot plopped to the tiles.

  "And if I don't do what it says to do? Go where it says? You bunch of twisted fucks," I asked. Utterly pointless, but I liked to test the waters now and then, see if there was a change in policy.

  "We know where you live." I shrugged. "We know why you are so afraid."

  "Well, you are kinda big. And the red skin looks good on you, sure, but it's somewhat intimidating."

  "No, we know all about you, Necrosoph, and your darling daugh—"

  "Hi, honey, we're home," shouted my beautiful wife, Phage, from the hallway. I heard the front door shut behind her.

  "Hello, Daddy. It's me… Jen."

  "And Woofer," came an excited voice.

  "Of course it is. Um, be right there. Love you both. You too, Woofer. Don't come into the—"

  The daemons vanished, and thankfully so did the mess. The note snapped into my hand so I pocketed it and turned, wiping at my brow and straightening damp hair that hung limp past my shoulders, peppered with silver the same way it had been for nigh on three centuries.

  I realized I was brandishing a vicious knife so quickly sheathed it and turned back around, beaming. Innocent as the day Jen was born seven years ago.

  "Hey." My heart melted with love as I spread my arms and Jen launched at me, utterly confident Daddy would catch her. Panicked, I grabbed her before she slid on the goopy bits. But of course, they were gone, being the supernatural boogers that they were.

  Woofer ran circles around us, shouting, "It's so exciting, it's so exciting. What are we excited about? It's great to be home. Haven't seen you for… Um, a while. Hooray!"

  "You okay?" asked Phage with concern, looking almost as stressed as me, having just waited for our daughter outside primary school. Jen was adorable but she gave her mum the runaround and then some.