Demon Dogs (Wildcat Wizard Book 3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Looks Nice

  Bodycount

  Sorry to be Rude

  An Ungodly Mess

  New Broker

  Familiar Face

  Drama

  Doing My Best

  The Big Move

  On the Road

  Home

  Buster's Hat

  Test's Over

  A Story

  Goodbye and Goodnight

  More Goodbyes

  The Quiet Times

  Walking the Donkey

  Gangster Time

  Oh, Candy

  More Questions Than Answers

  Down and Dirty

  Sticky But Nice

  Still Got It

  Duck!

  Fisticuffs

  A Lead

  Lunch

  Suspicions

  Truth and Heartache

  A Loving Family

  The Sleep of the Dead

  New Beginnings

  Worries and Concerns

  Focus, Arthur

  Bleh

  Being "That" Guy

  On the Hunt

  Old Haunts

  There's People, and There's...

  The Short Version

  The Drama Continues

  What's in a Name?

  Getting In

  Big Fight

  Just Goes to Show

  A Familiar Face

  Gonna Get Told Off

  The Accountant

  Contents

  Title Page

  Looks Nice

  Bodycount

  Sorry to be Rude

  An Ungodly Mess

  New Broker

  Familiar Face

  Drama

  Doing My Best

  The Big Move

  On the Road

  Home

  Buster's Hat

  Test's Over

  A Story

  Goodbye and Goodnight

  More Goodbyes

  The Quiet Times

  Walking the Donkey

  Gangster Time

  Oh, Candy

  More Questions Than Answers

  Down and Dirty

  Sticky But Nice

  Still Got It

  Duck!

  Fisticuffs

  A Lead

  Lunch

  Suspicions

  Truth and Heartache

  A Loving Family

  The Sleep of the Dead

  New Beginnings

  Worries and Concerns

  Focus, Arthur

  Bleh

  Being "That" Guy

  On the Road

  On the Hunt

  Old Haunts

  There's People, and There's...

  The Short Version

  The Drama Continues

  What's in a Name?

  Getting In

  Big Fight

  Just Goes to Show

  A Familiar Face

  Gonna Get Told Off

  The Accountant

  Been Here Before

  Running on Empty

  Out From the Darkness

  Calm Before the Storm

  Total Mind Melt

  A Surprise

  Caged and Dangerous

  Breaking the Law

  Things Get Really Weird

  New Friends

  Nice Doggie

  Good Girl

  For Your Own Good

  Breaking the News

  More Surprises

  Deal With It

  Confusion

  There's Somebody at the Door

  Trouble at Home

  A Shoulder to Cry On

  Memories

  Shaking It Off

  A Meeting

  That Tingly Feeling

  Odd One Out

  Ahem

  Hit and Miss

  The Truth

  Demon Dogs

  Wildcat Wizard Book 3

  Al K. Line

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  Copyright © 2017, 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.

  Looks Nice

  "By all that's unholy, Arthur, not again," said Imaginary Figure of Death, looking disappointed and more annoyed than usual.

  "Hey, it wasn't my fault this time," I protested, as peeved about being dead as Death was about setting all-seeing eyes on me once more.

  "Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before. You know this might be it, right? Kaput." Death sliced a long gloved finger across his throat, or whatever constituted the body beneath the cloak.

  Although I was used to meeting this imaginary idea of Death, now wondering if he was the real deal, I still gulped and felt nervous at the dire warning. Counting up the deaths, I was sure this was the seventh; maybe it was my unlucky number.

  Death tapped a foot impatiently, although I don't know what the hurry was. He had all the time in the world, unlike the rest of us.

  A realization came to me, but I was loath to give voice to my concerns as you don't want to get on the wrong side of the Grim Reaper, imaginary or not.

  "Out with it, Arthur. I do have other appointments, you know, and people don't like to be kept waiting."

  "You sure? I'd have thought they'd be happy to wait years before they met you."

  "Spill it, or I'll spill you."

  "Er, okay. I don't think I died. I was on form, and I'm positive I stopped the knife before it did anything but break skin and ruin my shirt." The moments before I collapsed ran through my mind. I saw the long blade flash and felt magic well inside, forming a callous like steel over my heart where it inched through thin material then stopped as the promise of icy death hit flesh.

  "Hang on, let me check." Death sat on a chair that appeared from the darkness as he squatted. He arranged his rags with fussy fingers, then a huge book thwacked down onto his legs. Dust danced and eddied as he flipped through molecule-thin pages, tiny, spidery handwriting crawling across the paper like angry ants itching to bite.

  "Ah, here we are," he said, running a finger along the page. He coughed, and then there was an uncomfortable silence that spread out as long as his infinite scythe. "Ah... er... there does appear to be a slight problem." I'm sure the darkness deepened around the cowl.

  "I knew it! You just assumed I'd die so pulled me over anyway."

  "Don't take that tone with me! Your main hobby is dying. But yes, you're right, this wasn't one of your deaths. So you're still on six. Ah, I see that when you die next it's... Ah, haha, oops, nearly spilled the beans then." Death slammed the massive tome closed and the sound echoed around the emptiness.

  "What? Come on, how many lives have I got left? Is the next one the last?" I asked in a panic.

  "Only one way to find out." Impossibly fast, he stood, twisted the handle of his scythe so the blade spun wildly, and as I ducked the world went all whooshy.

  I gasped, opened my eyes, and rolled to my right as the knife that had almost killed me slammed down hard at my throat.

  "Arthur!" warned Vicky a moment too late. Good job I was on the ball.

  I glanced at my shirt and I was right, the material was slashed but I wasn't bleeding out. Death had jumped the gun and probably killed me for real because of it. If he wasn't so hard
to reach then we'd definitely be having words.

  The knife sliced, barely missing my face, and that ain't nice. I had a hard enough time making myself look presentable as it was, having to go through life with a face that wasn't so much handsome as more striking, what with the stubble fighting for survival and the repeatedly broken nose and the wrinkles that told of my life and losses.

  My arm shot up and the sigils on my wand flared into angry action, the carvings glowing amber as the air protested and circles of pressure pulsed and spat at my would-be murderer. He crashed back against the TV, so old it still had tubes, and I took a moment to focus before I gave him what for.

  I may have gone a little too far.

  As Vicky screamed and I sat upright, I focused my will, let the anger and fury because of what he'd done leave me to strengthen my magic. Three powerful ripples like after a brick's been thrown into a pond could be seen as they slammed into his head one after the other, breaking his neck and smashing his face until it was punched clean out the other side.

  He fell to the floor, about as dead as you can get, and for the briefest of moments I had a glimpse of Death smiling and putting a line though the man's name before he slammed his ledger shut. The air boomed with the sound.

  Except it wasn't the air booming, it was the sound of the door knocking, and I knew then there was no question about it.

  I had to move the Gate of Bakaudif, and move it soon.

  Vicky reached out a hand and I took it, her not so much hauling me to my feet as me almost dragging her over so I had to use more energy to get up than without her help. My front door splintered as it was kicked in and three more Hounds filed into my hallway.

  "Demon Dogs!" screamed Vicky, and I didn't even have the energy to scold her for being overly dramatic.

  Yup, time to move all right.

  Bodycount

  In the distant past of the early nineteen-nineties, Body Count, a metal band fronted by Original Gangsta Ice-T released their debut album. When the three Hounds stormed my living room, no easy thing as the terraced house was tiny and they were very large, plus there was a dead goon in there already with his face caved in, all that went through my head was their signature tune.

  "Body count, body count," I mumbled to myself tunelessly, as Vicky backed up against me and reached out, grabbing my wand rather than my hand.

  "Hey, I've told you about that," I warned. "Only grab my wizardly wand when we're in private."

  "Do something." Vicky tugged at her ponytail nervously with her free hand, somehow thinking it would help.

  "Release my wand and I shall wave it about and scare them with its ferociousness and its size," I said, grinning.

  Vicky turned and stared at me oddly. "What's wrong with you?"

  "I think the fact I'm not dead has given me a cool buzz. That, or maybe the two cans of energy drink." I stared at the empty cans on the squat coffee table. It had become a bad habit, a way to fight the insomnia-induced lethargy, but it left me edgy and half out of my mind if I downed too many in a day.

  The three Hounds spread out as best they could, blocking the doorway and the entire wall, seemingly unimpressed by the mush I'd made of their buddy.

  I waited, willing my body to calm, my magic to build, and my wand to prime for what was to come. The goddamn members of Cerberus didn't learn, refused to leave me alone, and now here we were again, the same old story, just a different magical artifact this time.

  They stood, mute and immobile behind black shades, and it began to get weird. What were they waiting for?

  "Um, you guys want a cuppa while we stare at each other?" I asked, knowing because of the gate in the hallway it wouldn't happen, but it's always polite to offer.

  They said nothing, just upped the glaring and the being big by puffing out their chests and flexing their lats.

  "Okay, but don't say I'm a bad host. I offered."

  I knew lowering the wards at the door was a bad move, but I'd had little choice. Workmen were in and out all morning and the last thing I'd wanted was to have them die on my threshold. Carpenters and electricians were expensive enough as it was, let alone if it got around that you were liable to die earning a few quid on the side.

  What was the holdup with these goons? Maybe they figured I'd cave and hand over the book if they stared hard enough. If they thought that, they didn't know The Hat very well.

  Vicky kept squeezing my hand, didn't say a word to the Hounds, and if you knew Vicky then you knew that meant she was beyond worried. Normally she couldn't keep her mouth shut and had this uncanny knack of winning over the most hardened of henchmen. Guess she knew the words would be wasted.

  The buzz left and all that remained was a bone-deep weariness. I hadn't slept in days, not a wink, and as the caffeine, sugar, and chemicals drained from my system I swayed, nodding off.

  My head snapped up as I heard a familiar sound. A tap, tap, tapping of a cane against my wall in the hallway. The Hounds parted like a black sea to reveal a dapper looking man wearing a tweed suit and very expensive shoes. He had unruly hair in a style only posh people can get away with, and a smug look that made me want to smack him with a wet kipper before smashing him with a dry fist.

  Nathan. De facto head of Cerberus, and a real pain in the ass.

  Nathan took one look at me and Vicky, at the book sticking out of my jacket pocket, at my wand, then shook his head sadly, like he was disappointed or something.

  "Kill Arthur, let the woman go," he said with a sigh, like he was out of ideas.

  Hi, I'm Arthur "The Hat" Salzman. Gangster. Wizard. Screwed yet again.

  Sorry to be Rude

  As Nathan spoke I was already moving. I knew what he'd say, and that the Hounds would do as they were told without question. I yanked my hand out of Vicky's childlike clutch and shoved her hard against the wall. She slammed into it face first and dropped to the cheap carpet like the bag of outdated sportswear she was.

  It was for her own good, as moments later the punches started flying. The only thing I had going for me was my wand and the fact the room was so damn small there was no way for them all to punch me at the same time. As I ducked, I caught sight of Nathan turning in the doorway. He smiled weakly, nodded, then was gone.

  "Coward," I shouted after him, then stabbed out with my wand, jabbing the first goon in line right in the knackers. He doubled over and I kneed him in the face, felt and heard bone crack, then as his head snapped up I slammed my wand into his throat so hard his Adam's apple shoved against his spine and he fell to the floor choking to death. One down.

  The remaining two Hounds leapt for me, surprisingly quick for such big lads, and only a quick snap of the wand, pushing the air hard against them, stopped my last act being one of violence, although I always knew I'd go out in such a fashion.

  They were flung back across the room, and the magic use seemingly decided them. Out came the guns, and guns are bad. All that nonsense about guns aren't dangerous, people are, is bullshit. Yes, these guys were bad, and dangerous, but the firearms meant they could shoot me, which hurts and ruins shirts, so I ripped the book from my pocket and opened it at random.

  "Oops," I whispered, as the book wailed and the room was plunged into nightmarish blackness as all light was sucked into the brittle pages. Screams filled the air.

  I felt tattered wings, or maybe cloth, sweep past my face like cobwebs, making me splutter, and claw at my eyes. Chattering, and the dragging of nails across blackboards multiplied by a thousand crowded my mind. I felt sanity slip away as whatever had been released from the pages went mental as it savored its freedom and sought that which would make it whole. The minds of sentient beings.

  The goons screamed and howled, inhuman cries of utter anguish that almost made me feel sorry for them. They sobbed and choked, coughed and screamed, yet all I could do was cover my ears and repeat over and over, "It won't kill me. It won't kill me," as I focused my will on myself and Vicky, expanding a bubble of protection. Telling this spirit from
the Nolands we were off-limits, that I'd freed it and it would go straight back in unless it behaved.

  The men's whimpers were abruptly cut off as the sound of snapping bone replaced their pleas. The attack on my mind intensified. I chanted an ancient spell to ward off psychic assault but it was half forgotten, lost to my youth when I knew so many words but had little hands-on experience. I faltered and felt my grip on reality slip but redoubled my efforts, chanted the spell in full. Silently, but shouting it in my mind, my lips frozen and unmoving.

  Then the world blinked to life and light replaced darkness.

  A twisted, decrepit, wrinkled and tortured face surged forward, rotten rags draped over a skeletal body as it flew this way and that, trailing smoky death in its wake. It snapped at my face, eyes full of hatred for me and my kind, for wizards, and it was then I understood the mistake I'd made.

  It may have hated humans, yet needed them for their minds, but it loathed wizards as it must have been one who'd trapped it in this book for who knew how many centuries.

  I mumbled a bad swear as the little sense I had was slurped out my ears like a tasty beverage through a puckered straw. I glimpsed the disgusting creature smiling a nefarious smile as it pulled back then shot straight for me, intent on hitting me hard and entering my system, taking me over and using me like a puppet until it had milked all life from me before moving on to Vicky.

  Sometimes being a wizard and a gangster isn't as much fun as you'd think.

  An Ungodly Mess

  As I fell back against the wall, hitting my head hard but unfortunately not hard enough, I shunted the remains of my magic into my hands and called forth the entity that scrabbled at my jumbled mind, searing away memories of the few happy times I'd had.

  Visions of George whizzed past. Of her smiling, laughing, putting her arm around me. Hugging me, frowning and sticking her tongue out as she hammered her controller on the rare occasion I was beating her at a video game. But most of all, what cut the deepest, was her calling me Dad for the first time.

  Fond memories faded, slurped up by this thing, and I would not let that happen. I forced all I had into my fingertips, drawing back into the folds of the pages this creature that would eat my mind and leave my skull like a hairy, cracked coconut.