Swift (Strangetown Magic Book 1) (4 page)

When they touch you, or you catch their gaze, let alone if they kiss you—I don't even want to think about the drooling mess I'd be if we actually got naked and down and dirty—then you can become lost in a heartbeat. I've heard what happens, I've seen it, and it's perverse and even for the nice ones like Zeno it isn't their fault, it's just the effect they have on us. Let an elf get too close and they own you and you want them to and you will do anything, give anything, to make it last one second longer.

So, that's why I hit him. I will be beholden to no man, woman, beast, religion or law. I am me, Swift, and I will not be made an addict. At least, not to anything else. Magic is my drug of choice and that's more than enough of a problem for one lifetime.

Do I get lonely? Hell, yes. But I have made it this far without breaking, and there have been those I have shared my life with, made a home with, and they all leave in the end. I wouldn't change it, but for now, in these dangerous times, I was happy to be independent, or as independent as you can be when surrounded by madness and the only thing between you and the end is your wits, your magic, and the kindness of others.

I put my fingers to my lips and wondered if a regular man would ever be enough after a taste of what utter bliss could be like if I wasn't such a stubborn witch.

To the Supermarket

Let's say your town got overrun by aliens, or the whole country, world, whatever. Meltdown, right? People freak out, panic ensues, maybe everyone turns on each other and the army and police forces can't cope. Banking systems collapse, the Internet goes down, stores are ransacked, nothing gets made or delivered, and basically it's hell on earth.

None of that happened. Okay, hardly any of it.

I think everyone was surprised, but humanity dealt with the adjustment surprisingly well. Everyone still needs to eat, buy overpriced clothes, go to the cinema and bowling, buy cheap food at fast-food chains and mull over what coffee to buy. So supermarkets remained open just as they always did, the financial systems of the world carried on regardless, and not a lot changed in many regards.

Apart from all the hate and the opportunism, the name-calling and the mass exodus of Strangetown. We're about fifty-fifty here now. Half Normal, half Strange. Some would call it rather cosmopolitan in its own way—it's certainly a species melting pot of diversity. Many Strange have done well in their new world, and many humans have taken advantage of the situation.

Some have become hunters, others have gone with the flow and welcomed with open arms the opportunity to get a veritable smorgasbord of discount labor. Who can blame them, it's business, right? Everyone wants a job, and one advantage of living here is you can take your pick of houses, rent free, but for food, clothing, even utilities I am still amazed run so efficiently, well, just like always, you gotta pay with cash. Be it of the cold hard kind or the virtual, doesn't matter—everything costs, same as ever.

As I approached the supermarket, my belly went into overdrive on the hunger front. The rumbles echoed around the city, bounced off satellites far into space, and would be the first message an alien species would hear millions of years into the future before deciding to skip planet Earth as the language was incomprehensible.

Using magic always drains me in this way. Some human Strange need to sleep, others get manic for a while then sink into serious depression, others have seizures, or if you are really unlucky you will fall into a magic coma for maybe a few seconds, maybe a few days or weeks if it's intense enough—everyone's different, so I don't complain. Watch it! I don't.

I was damn hungry though.

The once-packed car park was mostly empty of cars, replaced with bicycles, weird rickshaw type things, skateboards, even a few dangerous looking flying nasties snapping at each other, their riders hurrying to buy what they needed before the impatient things ate each other. There were plenty of Strange and Normal loitering while their significant other shopped, taking the opportunity to chat, smoke, or both.

I grabbed a trolley and gave my belly a sound talking to as it was getting me some odd looks.

Munching on an apple, I tried to focus on the task at hand, but the hell of a morning kept clamoring for attention. Not the house, not Mack and his rather impressive true form, but the vampire. I couldn't shake it, that sight of an immortal human being getting stomped.

I've seen more than my fair share of death, even been the one doling it out on occasion, but it never gets easy, that reminder of how fallible we are. That all we are made of is delicate meat, with blood flowing around our body so close to the surface that a little nick with something sharp on the side of your leg, at your neck, or wrists, and a few minutes later you are gone, on the other side and wondering who invented such a fragile body for a sentient being to inhabit.

I wasn't overcome with grief—I hadn't known the guy that well—but that doesn't mean I wasn't sad, because I was. The loss of life is always a terrible thing, a precious gift to lose, and there aren't many people in this world that deserve to go out like that.

Houses and things? Whatever, they can be replaced, but life, that's so rare and sacred. Maybe I shouldn't have been sad, after all he was a vampire who'd had nine hundred years of experience, would have killed endless people in his time before they found a better way to continue their lifestyle. But regardless of the extra years, it saddened me the same as it always does.

Trying to get myself out of the funk, I focused on my shopping.

There were a number of new aisles and the meat counters seemed to expand exponentially each time I visited as the supermarket chains got up to speed with what the new clientele wanted.

As well as the usual beef and pork for sale, there was a dedicated ghoul counter, with a misshapen butcher standing behind the rows of putrid flesh, talking animatedly with a long line of customers waving their tickets around and clamoring for service. Human flesh, rotten and rancid, oozing and green, they can't get enough of it. They are kind of like human beings but extended in weird places, faces dripping like molten plastic, arms and legs deformed, either short or grossly elongated, but nice enough, as long as you are still alive. Yes, I know. Human flesh? WTF? You should see how much it cost. People signed over their bodies to help their families, rather than be buried or cremated.

I loaded up on the basics, grabbed another apple from my trolley and let the sweet flavor settle my stomach as I did a detour to avoid the Lava Land section—big business and their branding have been the first to embrace wholeheartedly our new neighbors. The heat from the massive cauldron was intense, but it didn't stop the demons swatting at each other with forked tails or savage claws as they got a ladleful poured directly down their throat—after they'd paid, of course.

All of this was quite normal now, and it's surprising how quickly you get used to new stuff, so I didn't bat an eyelid at the Yeti in a pink pinafore behind a small stand offering free samples of imported Norwegian snow—what's that all about?—or even slow to stare as I passed the packed aisle of fae, selling teeth to the goblins, who downed them in one and stood like zombies—yes, they are catered for too, have been for years—as the magic high of childhood innocence took them to a place they could never otherwise reach.

I just grabbed a box of budget corn flakes and carried on about my business.

Trolley as full as I dared since I had to carry the lot home, I piled it all on the conveyor belt and chatted with the zombie a little as she rang me up.

"Nice day for it," I said.

"Brains."

"Yes, lovely. Been busy?"

"Love brains."

"Oh, really? Well, that's nice."

"Get brains soon."

"I bet. Shift nearly over is it? Got anything planned for the weekend?"

"Brains."

"Great, hope you have a nice time. Taking the kids? The husband?"

"Mmm, brains."

"Nice! Oh, don't forget the bananas." I passed the bunch, pulling my arm back fast as the zombie went in for a quick bite. Cheeky sods have always got to try it on. Humans haven't worked the tills for decades now, which is just a matter of economics. Ever since Strange became part of regular life with the great coming out party—after the Second World War—that shocked the world, although nothing compared to the Rift, they've been gradually taking over a lot of jobs. Cheap, it always comes down to money.

"Brains?"

"No, that's it, thanks. How much?"

The zombie punched a button on the screen and pointed with a shaky finger. I paid, put the last of my purchases into my collection of "bags for life"—you gotta think of the environment—dumped them in the trolley, and pushed it outside. As I walked, I couldn't help feeling sorry for the zombie. They are the last of their kind. Their infected teeth have all been pulled, replaced with rubber ones, not that it stops them trying, but they can never pass on the virus to another human now, so one day, when they are too rotten to work, they will be no more. It's for the best, but still, the end of an era.

It felt glorious to be outside in the fresh air, even with the heat. The interior is way too overwhelming with competing smells, and if I can say one good thing about the Rift it's that the fact nobody drives anymore means the air is fresher than I can remember it for well over a century and a half. No smog from coal industry, no stink of cancerous gases, just a hint of sulfur as you pass a demon, or the putrid smell of zombies, ghouls, and bogeymen. But it isn't all-pervading. Mostly the air smells clean, fresh, as if we are finally allowed to breathe properly.

I took my bags, put the trolley back with the others, and stood, feeling content for a moment. Then my heart sank. My goddamn bag had split. Eggs, butter, and milk cartons all over the floor.

Some days a gal just can't catch a break.

I wiped off the goodies as best I could, checked the egg carton and was amazed only two had broken. Everything else was fine so I repacked the bags.

Could have been worse. Maybe the day was gonna give me a break after all.

Yeah, right. No sooner was I feeling better about the world, sure things would work themselves out, and how bad can things be when the supermarkets are still full of food and the sun shines, than it all went sour as a couple of smartly dressed men came walking toward me, chatting to each other but with a cocky swagger I just knew meant trouble.

I get these feelings, the witch in me, that tells me when crap is going to be flung in my direction. And these two jerks, they were full of it. Forget the zombies, the vampires, the elves, even the politicians or the law makers, there is nothing scarier than the everyman that feels he has a right to stomp on the little guy, or in this case what they probably thought of as a defenseless woman they could take advantage of.

As they got close, and saw me standing there, I could see their thoughts, their want, their hunger. With half the human population gone, and many more women than men having left, us females were in high demand, and there had been a lot of horror stories, and a lot of castrated men once the witches hunted them down and gave payback for their crimes. But there are always those that think they are above retribution, and these two guys thought they were entitled to things they absolutely were not going to get.

"Don't even think about it," I said as they stopped in front of me, smiling fake smiles, all white teeth and cocky grins. "I am warning you now. I am seriously not in the mood for any shit from you pair."

"Blimey, she's got a potty mouth on her, hasn't she?" said one soon-to-be-dead idiot to the other.

"Yeah, what else you do with that dirty mouth of yours?" leered the other soon-to-be-just-as-dead idiot if they didn't get out of my way.

"You want any help, missus? I'll work for magic," came a gentle, caressing voice. I looked down at the upturned and hopeful face of a young sprite, arms already outstretched to take my bags.

"Sure, why not?" I passed them over, put a hand to the little fellow's head, and gave just a tiny down payment, feeling the magic flow through my fingertips to give a taster of what it wanted.

The effect was instant. He grew about a foot and the smile got even wider.

"Ooh, that's good stuff. Where to?"

"Um, not sure exactly. I'll let you know when we get there. As long as we are done here?" I turned to the two men, who were frowning at the sprite.

"We're done when we say we are. What, you think the freak is worth talking to but we aren't?"

"Well, yeah. I think this sprite has treated me with kindness, is polite, and is trying to help me, and I don't think you two are worthy of cleaning its boots."

"Should I help you?" asked the sprite, face angry—I knew it could rip them to bits in a flash. They look kind of cute, but they are all about manners, and woe-betide anyone that treats them with disrespect.

"No, that's okay. But thanks. These gentlemen were just leaving, weren't you?"

"No, we weren't," said one of them as he moved forward and went to grab my arm.

I gave him an uppercut to the base of his nose and blood spurted across his buddy's face like a lesson in pain. The guy's nose was broken, splintered and irreparable, and as he put his hand to his face the other man lunged for me. I kicked his leg out from under him and sent him falling to the ground.

He looked up at me with hate and humiliation, then panicked and checked to see who was watching. The sprite and I stared, faces impassive, and watched until they left without another word.

Why is it that some people feel the need to make others feel small because they think they can? The Rift has done one great favor for humanity, it has shown us in our true light, and slowly but surely the bad apples are getting tossed. Maybe one day all that will remain will be kindness, but for now all we have is hope, and on days like this I have serious doubts about whether we deserve to be saved or if all we deserve is each other.

The sprite picked up my bags again and we walked while I munched on dry cereal, ate a banana, and looked forward to a proper meal when I got home, wherever home was now.