Dead Spark Read online

  Still, it was nice to see Persimmon, and we definitely owed her. Big time.

  Fight or Flight

  You know when you get in a panic about something and act in ways you normally wouldn't? I think there must have been a bit of that going about as otherwise I wouldn't have done what I did. I mean, a car would have been more convenient, and safer.

  As we turned the corner at the end of the street, Dancer mumbling about having to buy a new desk and where was he going to have his meetings now, I yanked him sideways almost off his feet, pulled him into the forecourt of the motorbike store, and ran past rows of sparkling mean machines. I banged the glass door open, hoping to hell that Ethelbald Nazir was in a good mood.

  Not likely, he never was. But he owed me and right about now I was sorely in need of a favor in return.

  "Ethelbald, where the hell are you?" I shouted, getting panicky and stressed, and maybe a little on the freaking out side, what with the whole being bitten by a zombie thing. Trust me, it has that effect on you.

  "Spark, how's it going, buddy?" asked Ethelbald as he came from out back. He wiped a meaty paw he liked to call a hand on his blue overalls and then came around the counter and pumped my hand like a damn car jack.

  "Been better, if I'm honest." I shook out my hand, trying to get feeling back. Damn but he was a strong bugger, big, too. He's six feet five, built like a wrestler, has a beard any bird would be happy to nest in, and long hair he seems to keep in a perpetual state of greasy and grimy, making Dancer's look dry and in good condition in comparison. Oh, and don't call him Ethel, he doesn't like it. I did it once, without thinking, and I still have the scar to prove it.

  "Spark, we haven't got time for this," moaned Dancer, glancing repeatedly out the floor to ceiling glass window.

  "Dancer, or, um..." Ethelbald scratched his head, "is it Head Dancer now?"

  "Dancer's fine," he said, distracted.

  "Hey, how come you guys never come see me? I'm just around the corner from you."

  We stared at him like he'd lost the plot. Surely he'd heard the explosion? Then I realized that with the bikes running in the garage, not to mention the thrash metal playing at full volume, his own business could go up in a nuclear explosion and he'd never hear it. Probably not notice, either.

  "Sorry," I mumbled, knowing I really should visit him more often. We go way back, and I hadn't stopped by since before Tokyo.

  "So, you're back? Couldn't stay away from the old magic, eh?" he asked, jovially.

  "Long story. Look, gotta be quick. Being chased. Need bikes, now. Special ones if you have them."

  "Why didn't you say so? Come on. I got two real beauties just finished up. Cost you, though." Ethelbald grabbed keys from a board behind the counter and we followed him out onto the forecourt.

  "Bikes?" Dancer looked nervous.

  "Yeah, bikes. Got a better idea?"

  "A car?"

  "Well, the wyrmlings are where the cars are. You wanna fight them? Cause I know I'm about done for and there's no way I can use magic. I need to rest. I'm running on empty."

  Dancer checked the street and ran back up to us in a panic. "They're coming. We have to go. Right now."

  "Okay, okay. Which bikes? Sorry, I'll come visit soon."

  Ethelbald stepped aside and smiled. "Check it out, dudes. These are my best work yet. Full of life and with all the usual upgrades and some new surprises for the discerning client. Here." He handed us a key each and wasting no time I jumped on and Dancer did likewise.

  The bikes roared into life, sounding like two demons growling with happiness. I revved the entirely bespoke machine and shouted to Dancer, "How do we stop the you-know-what from turning us?"

  "Follow me," he shouted, then burned rubber into the concrete and was out on the road and changing up the gears in a second.

  "Be careful with them, they cost a bloody fortune," shouted Ethelbald as I chased after Dancer, burning a matching scorch line of panic-fueled rubber onto the forecourt.

  "We'll pay you when we get back," I said optimistically. Gotta stay positive.

  I checked the fuel gauge—enough to get us far away—and was surprised to find I was already up to sixty with no sign of the bike struggling.

  "Damn, should have got a helmet," I muttered, also realizing it was a bad idea to drive a machine usually reserved for adrenaline junkies in a shredded suit and winklepickers.

  Too late now. I turned to see the wyrmlings in the street slowing down, knowing they couldn't catch us.

  Facing front, I gave the bike some throttle and tore through the suburbs of Cardiff breaking every rule of the road as I tried to catch up with Dancer.

  He better have a good way to deal with this as otherwise we'd be very dead, very soon.

  A Moment

  As we hurtled through the city, I tried to take stock of my body—it wasn't good. All of me ached, all of me screamed in pain, all of me was dog-tired. Using magic until you reach exhaustion, until you couldn't blast an ant if it was on your nose, it drains you in ways that go beyond merely feeling physically tired. It goes much deeper than that.

  Yet, even after what had happened, the fighting and chasing around the city in a constant state of hyped-up alertness, I wasn't hurtling toward a black pit of pain and despair like I used to. I was done for, no question, but there was an inner strength that was a part of me now. The giant within kept me going, strong and indomitable no matter what. I felt this difference like a perpetual reserve—it could never be tapped out. Making me a new man, one that would never again be at the whims of the magical comedown as I had been for so many years.

  I was different, new and improved, which meant it was a crying shame I'd been bitten and might not live to see the new me emerge now I'd accepted my link to magic and had decided I could no more give it up than I could stop breathing. There was an inner peace even while my mind and body raged at the chaos we fled from.

  Dragon was defeated, many of his followers were dead, and I didn't doubt that given time the wyrmlings would crawl back under the rocks they'd emerged from. But for now, well, they hated us with a vengeance that knew no bounds—undoubtedly, we hadn't seen the last of them.

  They'd be after us, wanted retribution for playing our part in destroying the man they idolized, worshiped like a god, and had been waiting for to lead them to glory. Tough. He was insane, and now he was dead. Good riddance.

  I glanced down at my leg, the bite mark partially visible where I'd ripped away the material to get a better look. It was kind of a funny color, like when you get a bruise that fades, all purplish and green. This was just the beginning, though. Soon it would change, the bruising spreading, becoming more evident as the virus really took hold and got to work on my flesh and my insides. Changing me, turning me zombie.

  I know, right? Eek!

  How was Faz Pound supposed to talk about himself in the third person if he was a mindless creature obsessed with nothing more than brains? He was usually obsessed with boobs and magic, and that suited him just fine.

  Everything was in turmoil, not just my mind. Where was everyone who'd left before the building exploded? Presumably they'd simply done a runner, which was sensible, but I didn't like not being certain. What about Kate, and Mithnite? Were they all right? And why was I even thinking they weren't? They were at home, safe and sound, but I'd call as soon as I could, just to be sure. The thought made my stomach flip, insides churning at the conversation.

  What would I say? "Hi, Kate. Good news, Dragon's dead. His wife ate him. Oh, by the way, I got bitten by a zombie and I can't come home in case I eat you and our new house guest. Love ya. Toodles."

  No, best to say nothing, at least until I got a handle on the situation. How, exactly, was another matter, but Dancer had said he had an idea, so maybe there was hope. The one thing we both had going for us was that we were deeply entrenched in all things magic. We could fight it, draw on our power, our connection to the Empty, and stave off the all-encompassing zombieness for a while
.

  It would have been better if I was full of magic, not running on scant reserves so weak as to be next to meaningless, but Dancer and I had been users, and abusers, of magic for so long we were almost true Hidden. Especially with his age and my newfound abilities. That gave us a level of protection and a way to fight this thing that Regulars, and most Hidden, would never have.

  That's not to say I wasn't terrified. I knew for a fact I'd rather be killed than be a zombie. Yes, I know that's being dead, too, but if I was to die it would be permanently, not a walking thing that would slowly rot away caring only about brains, brains, and more brains.

  What a life. I come out of magical retirement and this is the thanks I get for saving the bloody world from a madman. Makes you wonder if there's any point, when all you get for your trouble is a hole in your nice suit and an itch spreading from your thigh that makes you want to claw off your own flesh.

  The intensity of the tingling and throbbing became utterly maddening, driving me to distraction. I don't know how much of it was the poison spreading—and you can bet I was doing all I could to prevent it from happening, driving as much magic into the wound as I could to stop being consumed—and how much was my mind playing tricks on me.

  Glancing down, I almost drove straight into the back of Dancer as I finally caught up with him. We were already out on a clear, fast road now heading away for the city, and that was good. At least the wyrmlings wouldn't catch us and cause mayhem where innocents could be hurt.

  I pulled alongside Dancer and shouted, "Where to?" but before he answered, my bike kicked and I was thrown forward. I hugged the handlebars, staying low as I righted the bike as it wobbled. I turned, only to see a nondescript SUV coming at us fast again, ready to shunt us off the road or run right over us.

  Great, just when I thought the day couldn't get any worse.

  "Wyrmlings," I screamed. Dancer turned then sped up.

  He had a lot to answer for. I knew they weren't just angry about Dragon. They had a score to settle with Dancer for whatever went down years ago in his homeland and now they'd found him nothing would stop them getting their revenge.

  Well, if they wanted him they'd have to go through me first. We were friends and friends stick together.

  It was just a shame they hadn't left it a while, I was kind of pre-occupied.

  We weaved through rush-hour traffic, always moving well in the well-laid out roads that circled Cardiff, then were past a slip road and the way ahead was clear. We sped up and tried to lose the wyrmlings that would kill us before the virus did if we weren't careful and very lucky.

  It was hard to feel like luck was on my side right now, but at least I had my own teeth and hair, so that was something.

  Running on Empty

  An hour later and we were both running on fumes. The bikes and us, too. We pulled in to a petrol station and filled up the gleaming tanks on the monster bikes, drawing admiring glances from men standing at their cars, envy written large on their faces. I could imagine what they were thinking. That they'd love the freedom, the chance to ride on a mean machine without a care in the world, probably wondering if we were in a bizarre cult biker gang as we certainly looked nothing like your average biker.

  But they'd forget us as soon as they had such thoughts, which was just as well as we were both utter wrecks. Suits torn, slashed, ripped, and covered in the fetid goop of all manner of magical abusers, numerous wounds festering. Dancer had awful dark bags under his eyes and a wild look like a rabbit caught in the headlights. He constantly tugged at his livid forearm, now swollen badly. Red and blue and purple and green.

  I would have looked a lot worse. Hell, in one day I'd fallen from my kitchen into a weird dragon netherworld, rode said dragon, had one helluva fight at Council HQ, got bitten, escaped. Oh, and been to Delilah's, run around naked, worn dodgy sportswear, eaten amazing curry, and on and on it went.

  Was that right? Had it been one day? It felt like too much to fit into so few hours but I was sure it had all happened today. My thoughts were clouded, though, my mind a mess of confusion as I tried to put the day into order.

  It didn't matter. All that mattered was that we stayed alive and dealt with the current set of problems facing us. I hated to admit it, but this was just about the worst thing that had happened to me, ever. I couldn't see a way out of it, not in time, anyway, as the only way I knew to stop the virus taking control involved magic on a whole other level to what I possessed and right this moment I possessed about zero.

  Slowly, I was recharging, but it would take time and it would take rest. Lots of rest. And sleep. And food. And more rest. And a cuddle. A shower would have been nice, too. And another cuddle. Damn, who was I kidding? Mostly, I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, or rage at the world and scream, "It's not fair!" But I got it together—just—and held the rage inside.

  We walked in a daze into the small store to pay, only to find it was like a mini supermarket, more and more of them having popped up over recent years. More generic stuff, no independents left now, just places full of brand coffee and brand sandwiches as boring and bland as you can get. Still, people seemed to like it, and I guess we all want the familiar. The same coffee, same snacks, to know exactly what we'll get. Right about now, all that sounded like bliss.

  Still not speaking, walking like the undead we were soon to be, we paid for fuel and bought the brand coffee and sandwiches and I didn't even argue about the astronomical price I was so tired and in need of sustenance.

  We took our purchases outside and shambled over to a picnic bench at the side of the building. Silent, we munched on meatball sandwiches and drank scalding coffee. I ignored the warning on the side—it was supposed to be hot. It was coffee!

  "So, zombies, eh?" I said, glancing at my leg and trying not to scream at the injustice of it all.

  "Yeah. Zombies. At least most of our people got out. Guess they had sense enough to run away before the wyrmlings arrived in force."

  "That's something, right?"

  "Hmm." Dancer tugged at his tie, loosening it. "And Dragon, he's gone, so that's good. Ah, hell, Spark, I'm sorry I dragged you into all this."

  "Hey, you weren't to know. And besides, it was my choice. You know what?"

  "What?"

  "I'm glad I came back. This is who I am, I've accepted that now. Magic's a part of me, and apart from the getting bitten thing it all worked out fine."

  "Yeah, apart from the getting bitten thing."

  "Hmm."

  We finished up in silence. I guess it's just not the kind of thing there's much to talk about when you're so exhausted you can't even begin to think about it properly. Just being still and quiet for a while gave us back a little of ourselves. Allowed us to regroup and muster what strength remained. But we had to have a plan, and we couldn't stay long. The wyrmlings, the Romanian wyrmlings that were out not just for revenge for Dragon but for whatever Dancer had been involved in all those years ago, would catch up with us soon, and then we'd be toast.

  "Okay, what's the plan? You said you had an idea, so now would be a good time to give me some good news about all this." I prayed Dancer had a way to stop this, and something inside told me he genuinely did. I hoped it involved no amputating of limbs. I'd grown attached to my legs over the years. It let me have two feet to wear my winklepickers. Plus the whole walking thing, I'd grown accustomed to that, too.

  Dancer moved his empty cup aside and rested his arms on the table. He was shaking, and his arm looked worse. I knew I was the same. My leg burned hot and itched something terrible.

  "I know someone. Someone who can help. If we get to her, she'll be able to deal with this."

  "Who is it? And how will she deal with it?"

  "That doesn't matter. Just trust me, okay?"

  "Dancer, Boss, I trust you, but come on, you have to give me more than this."

  "Spark, this is for your own good. I can't talk about her, or tell you exactly where she is, as, well, she's rather secretive and if I
say her name she'll know. If I say much of anything about her at all she'll know, and then she won't help. Understand?"

  "She's a private person? I get it. But why the secrecy? She a wacko?"

  Dancer glanced around nervously as if she was about to step out from behind the building and go nuts on us. Who was this woman? "No, she's not a wacko. Okay, maybe a little, but she can help. You have to trust me on this. But you know as well as I do that we don't have long to get this dealt with. I can feel it already and I'm fighting it, but in another day or so it'll be too late and once it takes hold properly there's no going back."

  "I know. I'm doing all I can but it would help if I wasn't so drained."

  "I hear you. But we have to, Spark. We have to stop it getting too deep inside us or we'll be the bloody walking dead." Dancer got wearily to his feet. "I can't believe it," he raged. "I finally get into a good position in life and this happens. I never catch a break."

  "Feel better now?"

  "Yeah, a little."

  "Good, because shit's about to get nasty." I pointed at the SUV heading toward the service station and tried not to wince as I joined Dancer, taking deep breaths and readying myself for action. "Time to go, and fast."

  "Okay. We're heading north, that's all I can say for now. Follow me, and don't get lost."

  "I won't. This is a big ask, you know? I'm trusting you here, Dancer. This is my life at stake. I have a family now, Kate and Mithnite, not to mention Grandma. I don't want to miss out on what was looking to be a happy future now I'm back with mistress magic, too."

  "We'll be fine. Let's go."

  As the SUV approached, stuck behind a line of cars edging forward to refuel, we got on the bikes and took to the roads.

  We roared away. I knew they'd be after us.

  A Rush

  Something happened as we hammered the bikes and sailed along the motorway, heading north to who knew where to meet our mystery woman. Not only did the caffeine and the food kick in—offering clarity and a much needed energy boost—but I felt my magic levels top up like the bike's tank.