Swift (Strangetown Magic Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Squishy Vampires

  Hard Trolls

  Ties That Bind

  Dealing With the Haters

  Home

  Time to Move

  Dangerously Sweet

  To the Supermarket

  Bit Religious

  On the Case

  Same Old Crap

  To the Streets

  In Search of a Monster

  Camp Stress

  The Monster's Lair

  Child Killer

  An Explanation

  Getting to Know Each Other

  A Vision of Loveliness

  A Guest for Dinner

  An Explanation

  Getting on With It

  A Game

  Visiting Old Friends

  Across the Wasteland

  Spying

  Stalking Fester

  Time to Rest

  New Day, More Trouble

  Naked and Dangerous

  A Walk, a Fight, an Argument

  Just a Hole

  All Business

  Conspiracies

  Quick Stop-off

  To the Streets

  Avoiding the Queen

  Traitor

  Kindness

  Good Elf, Bad Elf

  A Race to Organize

  Making Calls

  Time to Clean up the City

  Those who Remain

  Swift

  Strangetown Magic Book 1

  Al K. Line

  Get deals and new release notifications first via the Newsletter.

  Copyright © 2016, 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.

  Squishy Vampires

  What did the witch say to the vampire before they crossed the road?

  "Run!"

  So we ran.

  I'd only known the guy a week, but at times like this Strange have to stick together. The fear of impending death has that effect on you.

  Holding hands, palms slick, we darted across the road, the intimacy welcome as adrenaline surged and fear tightened its grip. My magic wasn't going to help, not the both of us, so I pulled hard and he kept up.

  A rare car, belching and rattling, honked and I gave an appropriate response with my free hand. Then we were across, feet kicking at trash and the stink of Strangetown, a city still trying to right itself after so many wrongs.

  Past makeshift hovels and hastily erected and much needed stalls for washing, wiping, and wallowing, we headed for the chaos of the large plaza that fronted the old council building.

  I heard the screams of cyclists, followed by the crunch of metal and the crack of bone behind us and risked a quick glance over my shoulder. I'm a little nosy like that when my life is on the line.

  The troll was almost upon us, a mess of mangled bodies, bikes, deformed steel and torn asphalt left in its wake.

  It stormed through the temporary accommodation, canvas and posts trashed, the screams of a hundred creatures ignored.

  "Faster, or this is afterlife o'clock," I shouted at the vampire, speeding up and pounding the intricate paving of the plaza.

  Panic getting the better of him, he turned and looked, releasing my hand, but he didn't think to check where he was running before he did so.

  He went down, arms flailing before he smacked his head hard and his nose split wide open.

  When events happen so fast, you don't have the luxury of pondering your actions, even though a thousand thoughts jump into your head and your body tries to figure out what you are telling it. Mine decided I was a savior so I slowed, even as the smart bit of me said not to be so stupid, that there was nothing I could do to help. Not now, not like this.

  And then it was too late. The troll jumped, not a mighty leap into the air like a superhero, just regular jumping, but done by a twelve foot brick of immortal rock, so still quite impressive. Then it landed. On the vampire.

  Little remained but pulp and I swear his head popped like a balloon, not that I ever had balloons as a kid. My body soon decided that running away very fast indeed would be a good idea, so, I did.

  Black hair billowing like a tattered flag as a storm raged at full force, I weaved through the crowds of Normal and Strange, tried not to splat any gnomes, and ducked between a demon's legs. One of many creatures still finding it hard to adjust to the world.

  Our world, my world, where magic is for Strange humans only. These others, they are only supposed to visit upon summoning, not stay.

  My phone rang, vibrating in my waist pocket, totally making me jump. No time to answer; it could wait. Distracted, I ran smack bang into a goddamn fountain.

  Yes, my laces were tied, and yes, I wore appropriate footwear—I'm a bloody witch Justice so I had the right gear on. It was this stupid pigeon. They're about the only creatures on the planet that don't seem bothered by the Rift spitting out untold creatures from the netherworlds then shutting up shop, leaving them behind in my city where it all began.

  The bird squawked, pecking angrily at my boot as I cracked my knee on the marble fountain and performed a less than elegant dive face-first into the water. If nothing else, it cleared my head, and as the shock numbed my face I felt lost in time for an eternity, although it was only for the briefest of moments.

  A tiny creature, like a seahorse but with the face of an angel, winked at me then bobbed on past, doing whatever it is such displaced creatures do.

  I splashed about in a panic, knowing the troll and its elven handler would be on me in moments. If that happened, I'd be food for the fish, the ghouls, and probably for the damn pigeon.

  Pushing hard against the bottom, eyeing the coins greedily but knowing better, I got to my feet, waded to the other side, jumped out and just kept on running.

  I hate running, but it's becoming a habit of late. Usually it's me doing the chasing, though—it comes with the job.

  I'm Swift, and I'm gonna clean up this city.

  As long as I don't get squished to goop beforehand, but that kind of risk is an occupational hazard.

  Welcome to Strangetown.

  Hard Trolls

  I may have been less than courteous as I bulldozed my way through the plaza, but you can hardly blame me. Doing my best to shout a warning—although I knew it was mostly ineffectual as to be fair most Strange never needed to speak much, if any, English until now—I ended up ducking, diving, weaving and bumping my way past the immortal menagerie that wandered, stood, cried tears of hellfire, or sat around moping as I made my escape.

  Risking another glance behind, praying it didn't result in me joining the vampire in the afterlife, I was pleased to note the elf astride the troll was shouting at a fifteen foot beastie I honestly don't have a name for. It stood there, directly in their path—no way was it moving.

  How long would it take for the troll to understand new instructions and to skirt the big green giant? I didn't stop to find out. I ran away, only slowing when I couldn't stand the pain.

  Truth be told, that was a lot sooner than I would have liked. Yes, I need more exercise, and yes, I know that being a Justice should mean I'm tough as a troll's heel, so sue me.

  Usually my magic is enough to let me deal with the miscreants and the malcontents I have spent hundreds of years controlling, and the running bit has
never really been my thing. I'll start practicing, though—this world has changed for good, will never be the same again.

  As far as I could tell, I'd left the troll and its handler behind. Snaking through endless streets, doubling back and generally losing myself in the maze of Strangetown was enough. No way would I be found, at least for a while. It was only an opportunist anyway. Probably a lone hater who got carried away as he happened to bag himself a troll. Poor things, they're like oversized, made of rock, sitting ducks.

  They just stand about, doing nothing, saying less, and pretty much anyone that is inclined can jump up on their backs. Settle down on a cushion, screw anything that will give an electrical charge into each temple and you've got yourself a free ride and a very serious, and very large killing machine after a few days training. Problem being, the electricity mashes up their minds, so the more you treat them with such disrespect, the less reliable they become.

  Feeling like I deserved it, I lit up a slender cigar and took the hit, nerves sending happy signals to my exhausted mind.

  "Aah, that's so good." I leaned back on the bench, put my hands behind my head and let the sun warm my face. I hadn't noticed until that point how pleasant it was.

  "Hey, numnuts. If you've quite finished with the sunbathing and the polluting of your body and my air, think you could maybe get me out? I ain't digging this, babe," came the deep baritone of Mack—sometimes I called him Tiny Tim when he annoyed me, which was quite often. I found the little dormouse on Christmas Day so I felt it suited, but he wasn't impressed, said it felt demeaning.

  Mack scratched his way out of my hair, tiny claws gripping tight. Little magical dormouse feet that had kicked and clawed at my neck so often the exposed flesh was in constant need of a wisp of magic if I didn't want to look like a ghoul. Not that I have anything against them.

  "I told you to stay at home," I said, glaring at the little guy as he hopped onto my hand.

  "It's boring at home. I wanted to come out with you dudes. Guess we won't be seeing the vampire again any time soon. Shame."

  "No, not unless we want to look at a stain." I lowered my hand and Mack jumped onto the bench, freeing me so I could tidy my hair and continue smoking.

  "I liked him. Sort of. Nice teeth."

  "Me too," I said, trying not to let another death overwhelm me and send me to that dark place that called to me so often of late. Six months ago everything was fine, or fine-ish. My life has never been simple, but ever since the Rift, when creatures from countless realms, from the land of fae, from hells, purgatories, and places impossible to imagine, from every goddamn place that holds those that most never dreamed actually existed suddenly found themselves in our world, well, life's got nasty, and fast.

  This displacement, this disruption of all our worlds—some of which you can't even know the name of, or say, without going out of your mind—has been just as much of a downer for Normals as it has for Strange.

  That's me. A Strange.

  Use magic, or are from the other places? Then you are Strange. And you will be loved, adored, fantasized over, hated, hunted, humiliated and taken into servitude, all with about an equal chance.

  In other words, everything was pretty damn messy and nobody had any idea how to fix it.

  My phone rang and vibrated again, so I reluctantly answered, feeling able to cope with what I knew was coming thanks to the calming of the harsh tobacco.

  "You busy?" asked Fester—that's my nickname for him, although he's called Levick. He's the Queen's right-hand man. Adept, efficient, looks like a businessman, and a right slimeball.

  "You could say that. Can this wait?" I knew it couldn't; it never can. He only calls for one reason. There was silence. He was waiting for me to say what I had to say. "Okay, what's the job?"

  "A Justice is needed to deal with a serious issue, and you are the only one currently not working."

  "Not working! I finished my last job yesterday, and I'm having a bad morning." Like he cared.

  "As I said, you are free." See what I mean?

  "Okay, gimme." Sometimes being a Justice for the witches and wizards, and all the new Strange of our city, is a real pain, but a girl has got to earn a living somehow. And besides, I'm good at it.

  "I'll email you the details. This is direct from the Queen, Swift, so the resolution must be swift. Haha."

  "Hilarious, never heard that one before." He's such an idiot.

  "Today, it gets done today. This is your job now. You know the rules."

  "Fine." I hung up and took out my frustration on my cigar. Great, a job already. Yesterday it had been a werewolf that had decided playing in the parks was a good idea. The week before that it had been a ghost that... Never mind, let's just say I'm busier than ever these days.

  In the good old days it was just dealing with human or once-human Strange, but now the city is a different beast and we have pretty much been on call non-stop. The police have gone, the army bailed, politicians scampered quicker than Mack up my blouse. They left us to it, so if we want to keep the city under control and access open so we can survive, there has to be law. And order.

  I am the Law.

  Sorry, but I've always wanted to say that. Yes, I read too much Judge Dredd when it came out. Besides, I don't like to lose, and there is protection as a Justice. But you cannot fail; no second chances. Leaving a job unresolved means you are out, on your own, no longer part of the team. I needed the protection and sanctuary of my own kind, and I sure as hell needed somewhere to lie down right about now.

  No rest for the wicked.

  "Oi," squeaked Mack as I stuffed him in the pocket of my cargo vest. I took a final drag of my cigar, stubbed it out on the floor and pocketed the butt—mustn't litter—then ran away like a wuss as the elf controlling the troll let out a high-pitched cry and several tons of mobile rock came charging toward me, knocking over lampposts and kicking abandoned cars out of the way as it blindly obeyed its master.

  Some days I really wish I hadn't got out of bed.

  Ties That Bind

  Have I introduced myself properly? No? I'm Swift. Yes, that's it. There was another name, a Normal name, but that's long gone, in the past and not who I am now, or who I have been for centuries.

  Only family knows that name, and there isn't much in the way of that. I'm not even sure if I've said it since I was a child, and half the time it's a struggle to remember. This is the issue with being over five hundred years old—there's only so much room in the noggin, so some things have to go. You can't remember it all, the span is too long and the human mind isn't wired that way.

  So if we meet and I don't remember you, then sorry, but it's just genetic, not personal.

  My job? It was good, really good, for a long time. One of the main Justices for the Queen. Not, "The Queen", Her Majesty of the United Kingdom, but Queen Witch, some might say Queen Bitch, but not if they value their life, so no telling!

  She's fair, but harsh, and for my entire life I've been part of her inner circle. Ultimately, I answer to her and nobody else. We all do. I do my work, I make things right, and I get left alone.

  It all went wrong with the Rift and since then things have been, shall we say, different. For the longest time being a Justice had real perks. I met a lot of interesting people, had my independence, took no nonsense from anyone apart from the big boss, and even got paid.

  Now it's not so easy, and there are a lot of haters. Humans disappeared when our guests arrived, taken to places they would never survive, and many blame the new arrivals for this.

  We were accepted, we were welcomed, we were members of society as long as we towed the line just like everyone else. Meaning no using magic to do anything illegal, which is fair enough but a little annoying, and now half the country wants me and my kind dead. We are no longer magical human beings, we are lumped in with those that came through the Rift. Strange.

  I kind of like it. Who wants to conform? But it makes going on trips a little awkward, and don't even get me s
tarted on the banking. I do it all online now, it's less hassle.

  All this chaos that has built and built, fracturing our society here and across the globe, it's been a real eye-opener. Some people are downright mean. They want to build walls, erect fences, make "safe-zones" and segregate anything not purely human and Normal. But many, the majority, have just got on with things, and truth be told it has done the world economy no end of good. More products to produce, new stuff for our visitors. It's all good in the end.

  It's understandable that this is a shock. People are scared for their lives, for their jobs—and rightly so—their families and their futures. Reactions have been extreme.

  It makes my job that much harder, but, as I said, failure is not an option.

  So I kept running from the troll and the damn elf handler, mean sods that they are. I, along with everyone else, hate what they have brought to our side along with their golden good looks and entrancing sexual chemistry. Oh, and their hair is to die for, sometimes literally.

  The dark elves are worse than any other species I have ever encountered. They are here and stuck and they are cruel. They want what is ours, what is humanity's, and they mean to have it.

  A mess, right?

  So give me a little sympathy as I try to make good on the job I was given. Things were, to put it bluntly, a bit shitty at the moment.

  Back to the impending squished-Swift vs elf and troll issue.

  Dealing With the Haters

  The park was nice, with large expanses of open green space for children to run around like nutters, burning off their fizzy drinks and driving their parents to distraction, while others walked their dogs and threw sticks.

  There were a group of goblins in the kids play area hogging the swings, but they seemed happy enough and the braver toddlers love nothing better than tapping their noses and watching them wobble.

  I was sure I spotted a few dog shifters, too. You can tell, there's nobody shouting at them to fetch a ball.

  The sun was fierce and my pale skin screamed for sunblock I didn't have, sweat slick on bare arms and skintight black jeans I wriggle into every morning—my bum is like two albino melons wrapped in denim so you can bet I'm gonna show you what you're missing.