Crimes Against Magic (3 page)

I took the Northern line to Embankment, crossed to the District Line and took another tube to Whitechapel. Whitechapel is famous for one reason—Jack the Ripper. Mention the place to almost anyone on earth and their first thoughts will be those six murders back in late eighteen eighty-eight. In a sea of death and horror at the time, people remember only those six. It was probably because he was never caught, but giving publicity to brutal murders and the perpetrator felt... wrong. After a hundred years, the line between murderer and celebrity blurred to the point of nonexistence. 

I made my way past the start of the Jack the Ripper tour, where a large group of people were all waiting for their chance to walk in the steps of history. I continued on to an alley about half way down the street. At the end of the alley stood a large, barrel-chested man in a dark suit. 

"He know you're coming?" he asked in a deep voice. 

"No, I thought I'd just pop in. It's been a while since I've last had a good girlie chat."

"Don't piss about, Nate. You know he gets shitty if I don't ask."

"Yes, Jerry, he knows I'm coming." I glanced at my watch. "Although I'm about two hours early."

"Ah fucking hell, he doesn't like that." Jerry rubbed the dark goatee that was a few inches long, cut to a point to resemble a hairy spear tip. The cogs turned as he thought what might happen if I went in early. "Okay, you can go in, but if he complains I'll say you threatened me."

I stared at the almost seven foot tall, three hundred pound frame of the mountain in front of me. If I threatened him I'd better do it from behind a tank. "Say I used mind control on you," I suggested.

Jerry smiled and moved aside, showing the door he'd been hiding. He pulled back the steel gate with a nasty creak and nodded as I opened the thick wooden door and stepped inside.

On my first trip to Jerry’s boss many years previous, I'd expected the door to lead to a small office or shop. Instead it led to a tiny room with dingy white tiles on all the walls. You could go from one end to the other in about three steps. But Jerry certainly wasn't trying to stop anyone from gaining entrance to a tiny, dirty hole. His presence was to stop people from using the stairs it contained.

Easily the length of the longest tube station escalators, the stairs started in the tiny room and led down. I followed them as the lights on the stairs flared to life, illuminating the same dingy white tiles lining the walls. 

After a few steps the door behind me slammed shut. A rush of air flew over the back of my neck and I sighed. 

"You know the whole
creepy
vibe doesn't really work well when I've been here dozens of times before." I continued to the bottom of the stairs and out onto an abandoned subway station. It was so old, that no one knew its original name. I’d heard that it wasn’t even on any of the old underground maps. A nice little hidey-hole, tucked away for use only by a select few.

At one end of the small station platform was an archway, which led to the portion between where I was and an identical platform on the other side of the station. It contained a makeshift shop with dozens of items all set out on dark wooden shelves and benches. More items hung from metal hooks, welded to a large metallic grate next to an arch identical to the one I'd walked under. A middle aged man sat behind a large metal desk. He was examining a pocket watch through an eyepiece. His other eye was covered with a black patch. 

He looked up at me. "You're early." He brushed his long grey hair off his shoulders, revealing a deep scar along one cheek. 

I glanced at the huge man sitting in the corner, his arms crossed over his gargantuan chest. He nodded at me once and went back to pretending to be invisible. 

"Robert will never speak to you, Nathanial," the middle-aged man said.

"Too well trained," I said. "And the name is Nate, or Nathan. You know this, Francis."

The man smiled and gestured towards the silent bodyguard, who opened his mouth to show a stub where his tongue should have been. "You see, someone cut it off a long time ago. He cannot talk."

For all the times I’d been to see Francis, his bodyguard’s lack of tongue had never come up before. I just thought he was quiet. "I'm sorry," I said to Robert. His shrug suggested he'd gotten used to it long ago.

"And why do you care what I call you? Do you even know if Nathan is your real name?"

"No matter what I may have been called, I'm now Nate. That's real enough for me."

Francis waved away my concerns. "So,
Nate,
did you bring it?"

A small smile spread across my lips. "Of course I brought it. You hire me and I deliver."

I removed the satin pouch from my pocket and placed it on the shining counter by Francis. He hungrily spilled the contents onto a velvet cloth.

"I take it that little book is exactly what you wanted."

Francis carefully turned the leather bound book over and over in his hands, a smile of glee across his lips. "Do you have any idea what this is?"

"It's a book. I assume an old, expensive one."

"It's a
very old
copy of the Iliad.”

“Someone wanted a copy of Homer’s Iliad? Couldn’t they get one from the library?” 

“A client requested that I find her a copy. A very specific copy in fact."

"Why that copy?"

Francis shrugged, causing his hair to spill over his shoulders. "No idea. But she paid quarter of a million for it. And for that I don't ask too many questions."

I couldn't help but smile. "Oh yeah, getting paid that much money for an old book is perfectly normal."

The noise from the man in the corner almost sounded like a chuckle. Francis didn't seem to find the humour in it. "I did check her out,
Nathanial
," he said tersely. "But this book is nearly two thousand years old. The amount of money I was paid for this is but a fraction of its true value."

I knew Francis was exaggerating, but I decided it was best just to take his point and let him live in his moment of happiness. "So do I get paid then?"

Francis carefully inserted the book back into the pouch and placed it on the counter, which he reached under and withdrew a small black bag. "Fifty grand," he said. "And more importantly, you no longer owe me any favours." 

I had no concerns that he was going to steal it back from me, or that he'd have his men attack me. That wouldn't be good for business. Contrary to popular belief, there is honour amongst thieves. It just comes in a green paper form.

 Francis had been the man to not only tell me about the world I live in, but also explain magic. He explained that a sorcerer's magic is bound to two different schools. The first is Elemental—water, earth, fire and air. Most users of magic start in this school, the magic I'd used in my target’s bedroom was air, hence the white glyphs, which crossed over my arms. Each type of magic corresponds to a different colour glyph—orange for fire, green for earth and blue for water.

Sorcerers start by learning one form of magic in the Elemental school. But over time, anywhere from decades to centuries, they can learn a second. In my case the second element I had control over is fire, meaning I was a lot older than my early thirties appearance suggested. This second form can never be the opposite to one already learnt, so I could never learn earth or water magic, no matter how much I tried. 

The second school of magic was called Omega magic. The magic is too powerful to be wielded by a novice. For this reason, any sorcerer wishing to use Omega magic is usually millennia old at least. It consisted of mind, matter, shadow and light. As with the Elemental school, each magic corresponded to a different colour, although I wasn’t powerful enough to use any of the four types. 

Over the years, I'd heard rumours of a third school. Blood magic. But I'd never found anyone willing or knowledgeable enough to talk about it at length. The only thing I did learn—it scares the shit out of people.

"The robbery isn't on the news yet," he said, bringing me out of the memory of his teachings. "How did it go?"

I stuffed the money in my backpack. "Easily. Footballers have too much money."

Francis chuckled. "Do you have any other jobs on?"

I shook my head. "I plan on relaxing for a few weeks."

"When you need more work let me know. I can always find something for you to... acquire for me."

"Enjoy the book," I told Francis, who hurried away to make a phone call. I said my good-byes and left the station, opening the main entrance door and nodding to Jerry as I stepped back outside into the daylight.

The cold, crisp air was a bit of a shock to the system after the heated underground, but I soon warmed up once I‘d made my way back to the tube station. 

As I descended the steps, deep in thought about the possibility of some time off, an attractive young blonde woman bumped into me, brushing her hand against mine. I was about to apologise when suddenly my world started to spin. I steadied myself against the side of the stairwell as a noise rang in my ears. By the time I'd recovered, I'd noticed that the mystery woman hadn't even paused. She'd continued on her journey up out of the mouth of the tube entrance, vanishing into the increasing crowds above. I darted up the stairs after her, but searching produced no results. I rubbed my hand where she'd touched it and wondered what had just happened. I wasn't poisoned, I was certain of that, and the noise and dizziness had left me as suddenly as it had arrived. Maybe I was tired, or maybe my memories were beginning to come back. Either way I felt normal once again, so I shook my head and continued on my journey.

Chapter 3

My mobile rang the second I stepped out of the tube at Bank. My mind still pondered the blonde woman from a few minutes earlier. Something about her seemed familiar, although I couldn't place what. Maybe a memory, stagnant in time, was finally coming loose. Or maybe she looked like someone I'd seen on the TV. It was hard to tell where the memories came from sometimes.

"Hey, Holly," I said as I started my walk toward St Paul's Cathedral. It was coming up to lunch time, and the tube would get busy again. I didn’t like crowds. You never knew who was in them. 

"We're at a sushi restaurant near the Cathedral. It's called Zen. My dad's just gone to get some drinks."

I crossed a busy road, running the last few feet to avoid a barrelling truck. "I'll be about twenty minutes," I said after giving the driver a look at my middle finger.

 "Did you see Francis?" Holly was just over thirty years old, and despite her family, was unaccustomed to the criminal life of constantly looking over your shoulder and trusting as few people as possible. Her father had told me that she was smart as a whip, but her sense of danger was often overridden by her sense of adventure and excitement. It was a fair description, but I made sure to keep her out of anything that might cause her problems. It was why she had as little to do with Francis as possible. Some of his jobs were on the... dangerous side.

I didn't want to start discussing Francis, or Holly's payment out in the open. "I'll see you soon." I hung up and continued on my walk, as the sounds of midday London washed around me. I sometimes wondered how anyone ever got a moment's peace in a city the size of London. It would have certainly driven me insane to live with the constant noise. Visiting is one thing, but I preferred a slightly less cluttered place to live.

By the time I'd reached the Cathedral, lunch was in full force. All the lawyers and business graduates tried to look as important as possible in their impressive suits as they ate over-priced sandwiches, and discussed things that would bore most people into a permanent coma.

The sushi bar was easy enough to find. A huge yellow sign outside made sure I was unlikely to get the wrong place. From the front entrance, I spotted Holly at a four-person table toward the rear of the restaurant, reading a book. 

The restaurant hostess, a young Asian woman, came over. I explained that I was looking for my friend, and she passed me a menu before allowing me to walk over to Holly. 

"Nice choice of restaurant," I said once I stood beside her.

Holly put the book down and beamed. Her shoulder length blonde hair was tied back, showing the tip of a tattoo just below her hairline. She'd gotten the angel a few years previous. It covered her back, with the wings creeping up slightly on either side of her neck. 

Holly stood and embraced me. "It's good to see you again."

"You too," I said and sat opposite her. Holly and I spoke every few days, but we only saw each other once or twice every few months. Any more than that and it would increase risks for both her and me. But less than that and I would... miss her. She was always so full of life and energy, it was hard not to get sucked in. "I thought you were with your dad?" I motioned toward the book.

"He's popped out for a few minutes, which probably means an hour or so. Figured I might as well catch up on my reading until one of you arrived."

"Hope you weren't waiting too long." My stomach audibly rumbled. "Guess I should order." 

"Already ordered you some duck futomaki and sushi rolls. I know you don't like salmon, so I had them make it with tuna instead."

I bowed my head slightly. "Thank you."

"You must be the only person in the world who hates salmon but likes other fish."

"Then I'm the only person with working taste buds."

Holly chuckled for a second before I caught the movement of her eyes as she spotted someone by the restaurant's entrance. "Your dad back?" I asked as a waitress placed my food in front of me. The smell made my stomach rumble once again.

Holly nodded. "See for yourself."

After dunking one of the small tuna rolls into some wasabi and soy sauce, and taking a bite, I turned to watch Holly's dad make his way into the restaurant. Mark O'Hara wasn’t a large man. Physically, he was only a few inches taller than me, so less than six feet, and could never be considered muscular. But he was wiry and capable of horrific violence on those who have wronged him. He ran his family, and by extension those who worked for him, with an iron fist. If you stepped out of line, he’d let you know, and it probably wasn’t a good idea to do it again.