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Read on for the first 3 chapters of Shadow Fall, the final conclusion to the Nightkind Trilogy

The Blue Crescent Hotel must have been impressive once. Its hulking edifice hunched on the summit of a wooded hill like a stone sentry overlooking the snaking river and snowy meadows far below. It was a tall, boxlike construction and its painted facade, which had been as blue as its name, was chipped, bleached and peeling.

I carefully made my way through the woods behind the building. Navigating the snowdrifts and ducking below the bare black branches snaking before me, which actively seemed to snag at me, wasn’t exactly easy. It was like they were trying to prevent me from reaching my destination. My gloves gave some relief from the frigid air, but my nose felt as if it was about ready to fall off. I glanced back at the red sun dawning in the east. It didn’t seem like anyone would feel its radiance today. 

A voice cried out from one of the hotel’s many windows. I ignored it. There’d been a cacophony of such sounds since I’d climbed the icy hill to approach my destination. 

The Blue Crescent was filled with the detritus polite society had shrugged off; tweakers, heroin-addled walking dead, the damned souls who’d fallen through the cracks of a constructed reality. Worse, they were blinkereds; the tribe of humans who only saw what was placed before them. Or, in this case, whatever mirages their drugs provided.

I redoubled the enchanted shield I’d cast around myself. My job should have been simple, on paper at least, but it felt like it would be anything but. The woman who’d hired me, Mrs. Kembolde, was blinkered. She’d found me through a mutual friend, who, like me, walked both the blinkered and magical worlds. All I needed to do was find the demon who’d slain her brother, Reggie. 

Of course, Mrs. Kembolde hadn’t been aware that an actual demon had murdered Reggie when she’d explained her requirements. She’d used the term as a pejorative but, after she’d handed over her brother’s almost empty wallet, and Thaddeus had studied the bloodstains on the single crumpled dollar bill contained within it, we’d found traces of ichor that strongly suggested his killer had in fact been demonic. 

Reggie had been a methhead and, according to Mrs. Kembolde, he’d been bad news for most of his life; a recurring curse upon their family. He’d robbed them, abused them, and pleaded for financial aid in an almost constant cycle. He’d checked into rehab, checked out of rehab moments later, lied, cheated, and stolen his sister’s wedding ring. She’d hated him for that, and yet she’d been devastated when his body had been discovered in the woods behind the Blue Crescent.

The dog walker who’d stumbled upon Reggie’s corpse had described it as being completely stripped of flesh, and his face had been such a mess it had taken the cops days to identify him. Of course, they’d searched the Blue Crescent and interviewed its broken tenants, but they’d come up blank. As for the state of Reggie’s body, the cops had put it down to wild animals, but it was clearly something else entirely. Something wild, sure, but something evil too. 

“Nice,” I muttered as I entered the hotel through the remains of the back door. 

The place was gloomy, but there was enough light to reveal the devastation that had been wrought upon the building’s former grandeur. Multicolored loops of graffiti covered the sides; names, threats, crudely drawn genitalia, the usual fare. Spent cigarettes studded the carpet along with crushed beer cans, and scorched circles from where people had started fires. The air reeked of urine, ash, and charred wood. I couldn’t imagine how the building had looked in its glory days, but as I held my hand against the wall, I caught a flash of a warm, brightly lit building with royal blue carpets and fine art displayed on its walls. Well-heeled staff, and even more well-heeled guests. 

And then my vision flickered, and I was plunged back into the twilit hell looming before me. 

Muffled voices issued from a nearby door as I entered what appeared to be an old conference room. Three men and two women lay sprawled across the floor. Crack pipes and needles surrounded them like malignant toys. 

“Can you help me?” I pulled my phone and showed them a picture of Reggie Kembolde. “Do you know this man?

One of the group, a man barely out of his teens, nodded. He spoke, but his voice was so drawled he might as well have been conversing in a made-up language.  

“He got ate,” one woman explained. “By wolves. I heard the only thing they left was his spine. Mad Taylor said whoever did it didn’t even leave him his eyeballs.”

“That’s not quite… accurate. Did you know Reggie?” I glanced around the room. “Did anyone bear him a grudge?”

The woman shrugged. “Not really.”

“Yeah,” a skeletal man with a shock of coppery hair said, “we don’t exactly swap names and details here.” He gave me a humorless laugh. “Just needles and pipes. Know what I mean?”

I nodded. “I wondered if there’d been a falling out. Anything that might have prompted someone to attack him?”

“There’s fights every day.” The woman fumbled for a cigarette from her crushed packet. She looked crestfallen as she spotted it was snapped in half. She tried to mend it but it was unfixable, and it was also her last one. 

“You may just get into a fight yourself, mister,” the man said. He wasn’t threatening me; he was warning me. 

“I just need to know what happened,” I said. “And find the man who hurt Reggie.” I glanced around. “He might still be here.”

“Maybe,” the other woman said. She sat up and fixed me with a bleary look. “Irene vanished last night, but she’s always going missing, so that doesn’t mean jack shit.” Her eyes flitted over me in a cautious appraisal and focused on the phone in my hand as she openly weighed its value. She shook her head. I guessed my blinkered phone wasn’t worth the effort of stealing. 

“Where’s Irene’s room?” I asked.

This produced a cacophony of wheezing laughter. 

“We don’t have rooms, mister,” the copper-haired man said.

“We sleep where we fall,” the woman who’d appraised me replied. “But I heard she went to the top,” she shivered. 

“What does that mean?” I asked. 

She held out a grubby hand, and it took a moment to realize she wanted paying. I’d folded some twenties into my pocket ahead of time so I wouldn’t have to pull out my wallet. I handed her one. 

“It means she’s probably dead,” the woman said. “You should check out the second floor though. She was always up there. Don’t ask me why.” 

“Just keep away from the fourth floor,” the other woman said. 

“Why?” I asked. 

“There’s a man up there and you don’t want to meet him. That’s all I’m saying.”

I nodded my thanks and left. 

“I don’t like these people,” Eznárez whispered. I had him by my side in plain sight, but I’d cast a spell over the sword so the blinkereds wouldn’t see it, not that it would have registered with them anyway. Still, I was finally learning the value of caution. 

“They’re unwell,” I said. 

“They’re almost dead and they’ve done it to themselves. And they tell untruths with impunity. Lies will be their last words.”

I nodded. He had a point, even if it was a pitiless one. I’d almost reached the wide stairwell when someone spoke behind me. 

“Sir.”

I turned to find a man in a crumpled suit standing in a doorway. He ran a grimy hand through his receding hair and tried to straighten his tie. He had pale, tired eyes, a careworn smile and the look of a man who’d made something of himself once, until the world had kicked him down. 

“Are you talking to me?” I hadn’t expected to be called sir in this wretched place. 

“Yes. Are you with the police?” He glanced me over and it seemed he was perfectly aware I wasn’t a cop. 

“I’m a private detective. And you are?” I kept my voice casual as I waited for whatever he was going to demand for information. 

“Mr. Lyle.” He offered his hand. I reluctantly shook it. “I… I guess I’m a resident.” His lips twitched in a short-lived smile.

“Do you know why I’m here?” I asked. 

“That poor man. Mr. Kembolde.”

“Did you know him?”

Mr. Lyle shook his head decisively. “No. I mean… I saw him from time to time.” He gestured around himself. “Things are transient here. You meet someone one day, they’re gone the next. It’s the nature of our existence. But regardless, I was sorry when I heard what happened to him.”

“Can you tell me anything that might help?”

Mr. Lyle shook his head again. “I’m afraid not.”

“Okay, well, nice meeting you.” I headed up the stairs.

“I…”

I turned back to meet those quick nervous eyes. 

He clasped his hands together. “I just wanted to warn you.” His gaze flitted to the ceiling. “I mean, I wouldn’t go too far up there. And…. Well, you should probably leave.”

“Why?”

“Some residents can be… unpredictable.”

“Someone already warned me about the man on the fourth floor. Is that who you’re referring to?”

Lyle gave a slight nod. He lowered his voice. “I don’t want to cause any trouble. We have enough of that already. I’m not good with conflict.” He gave a bitter laugh. “It was my overwhelming urge to soothe my nerves that got me into this damned addiction in the first place.”

“Well, I appreciate the warning, Mr. Lyle. And I’m not looking for trouble either, but it usually finds me. Maybe you should go for a walk or something. Just for a couple of hours.”

He appraised me carefully and seemed to reach a decision. “Perhaps I will. Take care.” He gave me another half smile before flitting into the shadows. 

I climbed the stairs, my heart beating a little faster than it had before. 

The second floor comprised a long, dank corridor with doors leading off on either side. Some doors were intact, most weren’t. 

People lay inside the rooms, sprawled in beds, and on the floors. It was hard to see much with the ragged curtains drawn against the dawn. Some sat with their backs to the walls, smoking noxious, bubbling substances that filled the air with sharp bitter scents. I spoke with the few who met my eye. Most thought I was a cop, not that it stopped them demanding cash. They threatened me and laughed at me in equal measure. 

“You should put them out of their misery,” Eznárez said. “Cut them down.”

“We don’t do things like that here,” I replied. 

“And no doubt you think that’s humane.” He muttered something in his other tongue. I had no idea what he’d said, but it didn’t sound pleasant. 

I’d almost reached the end of the corridor when I felt the displacement in the air. 

“Turn!” Eznárez cried. 

I whirled around as a gaunt woman with wild blue eyes dashed from the door behind me. 

The shard of glass in her bleeding hand glimmered like a dagger. Time slowed as I watched it descend toward me. I broke from my reverie and seized her as the tip punctured the skin on my throat. The wound wasn’t bad, but it smarted all the same. I twisted her wrist.

Her scream was horrific in the confined space.

“Sorry!” she cried as she dropped to her knees and nursed her wrist. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!”

I brought my boot down on the glassy dagger, splintering it into fragments. 

“Why did you do it then?” I kept my voice as calm as possible. 

“He made me do it!” Her lips turned into a rictus grin. “He doesn’t want you here. He wants you to leave. Dead or alive, he doesn’t care.”

“Who?”

She shook her head. 

“Where is he?” I glanced at the ceiling. “Up there?”

“I can’t talk about him. Can’t say. Even though he’ll torture me either way!” She spoke in a sing-song rhyme. This seemed to amuse her, but then her eyes filled with tears and she began rocking. 

“He won’t hurt you if I find him first,” I said. “Tell me where he is.”

“Everywhere. And nowhere.”

“What’s his name?” I asked. 

“Legion,” she whispered, before crawling upon her hands and knees across the floor and disappearing into the murky room she’d emerged from. “Sorry!” she called, before softly closing the door behind her. 

I rubbed my throat. It was bleeding, but not heavily. I’d been lucky. I was slipping. My attention wasn’t fully where it needed to be… I hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in days. Things were going to hell fast. The magical quarter was in uproar and it seemed my ex-colleague, Morgan Rook, had stirred up some kind of ant’s nest in his hidden war against a shade. Apparently, my former employers at The Organization were in the thick of everything too. I’d only heard the gossip, so I had no idea what was true and what wasn’t, but it was as plain as day that a storm was brewing. One that might tear the city apart. 

But I had my own problems to deal with. The last of the Nightkind, Evanora, was coming for me. She hadn’t made her move, but she would. I’d slain both her granddaughter and daughter, and it wouldn’t go unpunished. They hadn’t exactly given me a choice in the matter, not that Evanora would care. She was death and nightmare rolled into one, and the hatred I’d glimpsed in her eyes had chilled me from the first moment I’d encountered her and her kindred in their twilit realm. 

I wondered what I’d feel when death found me… Would I die twice? Once from regret, before my final exit? Had I achieved even half of what I’d wanted for my life? Hardly. Not that I’d ever really had any clear goals other than getting through existence as best I could. But the one thing I definitely hadn’t resolved was finding and killing the man who had murdered my mother. In that, I’d failed abysmally, but not for want of trying. 

A desolate howl came from above me, bringing me back to the darkened corridor. I wished I wasn’t alone, but Thaddeus was away searching for whatever world he’d arrived in ours from, as well as whoever he had been there. Sometimes it seemed he was even more lost than I was. 

Evelyn was on an assignment, meaning someone was about to lose their life. And Johnny Deadlock… Well, he’d been super cagey when he’d left the apartment that morning. Whatever he was up to, it was clearly no good, not that I’d pressed him on it. I was just his unwitting landlord, and his business was his own. 

I continued searching the floor, but found nothing more than scenes of wretchedness and squalor. Most of the people I encountered shot me sly, malicious looks. The demon could have been any or none of them. 

From what I’d been told, my target was most likely on the top floor, but I wasn’t certain he was up there. No, I had the sense he was wandering the corridors, stirring things up in my wake. I could almost scent his evil in the musty air. 

I climbed the stairs to the next floor, which was empty save for a room filled with bodies sprawled across the threadbare carpet. 

“They’re alive,” Eznárez said. “Somehow. But they’re on the precipice. You could serve them a kindness.”

“I told you; I’m not killing anyone,” I said. “Except for my assignment.”

“You’re a weak master.”

“And you’re a poor servant. Now shut the hell up.”

I searched the rest of the corridor and found nothing, but as I climbed the final set of stairs, I heard a muffled whimper. I took the steps quickly, gripping my gun in my pocket, much to Eznárez’s chagrin. 

A man lay upon the landing. His leg was chained to a radiator, and his eyes rolled like he was dipping in and out of consciousness. I placed a quick healing spell on him, and blew sleep dust into his face so he’d forget I’d been there. 

I glanced around, listening carefully. It seemed there was no one else on this level, at least no one breathing… 

“What do you hear?” I whispered to Eznárez. 

“Absence.”

“Where’s the demon?”

“I couldn’t tell you, but I suspect you’ve already met him. He hides well.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“I’ve told you before, I don’t know who Sherlock is.”

“No matter.” I glanced down to where Eznárez’ glowing green eye shone on the pommel of the sword. He blinked slowly, like an irritated cat. I was vexed myself. I knew the demon was present but, as Eznárez had said, he could have been anyone I’d already met.

“You need to make him reveal himself,” Eznárez said, as if reading my thoughts. 

“Any ideas how?” 

“Indeed. I’ll need blood. You can take it from the sleeping man at your feet, or I can use yours. I’ll leave the decision to you.”

“Fine. We’ll use my blood. What’s the spell?”

“Kthampa. Or the Mothwing Glow in your tongue.”

“Mothwing?”

“You’ll see. Give me blood, but be warned, this will cost us both magic.” 

Before I could think twice, I held my hand out and ran the blade across my palm. The sound Eznárez made was beyond creepy; as if he treasured my blood far more than anything I’d fed him before. The sword glowed with an eldritch green light, and his eye rolled with ecstasy. 

Eznárez whispered in his native tongue. It was a song-like, melancholy dirge. The dust gleaming in the patch of sunlight along the hall stirred, before drawing toward us, like a tide. I thought I heard wings, soft, delicate, and almost imperceptible. Nothing seemed to be out of place. 

“You won’t see the spell for now,” Eznárez said. 

“That sounds useful.”

“But you’d feel it if it was cast on you,” said whoever was climbing the stairs behind me. I didn’t recognize the voice and yet it seemed familiar all the same. How long had they been listening to our exchange?

Mr. Lyle appeared. “I figured I might as well reveal myself before your moths do. Make the magic you used irrelevant.” He studied me closely. “I was going to leave you be.” His voice was suddenly a lot less nervous and unassuming than it had been when we’d first met. “You were cordial, and I respect that. Besides, you’re not long for this world.”

“What does that mean?” I asked. 

“You’re marked for death.” Lyle held his hands out. “Not by me. Another’s claimed your ending, and I would have respected that. But you didn’t leave.”

At first I thought a cloud had drawn over the rising sun outside, because the window behind Lyle darkened. And then I wrested my gaze from him and saw it was moths… hundreds of moths. They bumped against the glass, their brown and gray bodies fluttering madly, their antenna probing. They were seeking a way in. Soon, they found a crack in the wall.

“They saw the light your sword cast inside me.” Lyle inclined his head to the moths. “I’ve seen that magic before, but not for a very long time. It’s rare.” He glanced from the moths to me. “You’re rare. You and your talking blade. It’s a shame I’ll have to deprive the world of you both.” He swept his hand to the floor. “I’ve enjoyed feasting on the people downstairs, if you can call them that. But you… you’ll be far more exquisite, I think.” He nodded almost politely as he strolled toward me. “Come, let’s see what’s inside you.”

Lyle paused as even more moths seeped into the hotel through a broken window at the end of the corridor. They swelled in numbers, forming an immense, swirling cloud and there were so many I heard their beating wings and felt the intensity of their gazes. Lyle held his arms out, as if seeking to embrace them. Within seconds, the creatures flew down the passage and covered his suit and face until it was almost impossible to make out his features. 

“Kill him!” Eznárez urged, drawing me from my stupor.

I was about to drive the blade through the demon’s heart when Lyle’s whole body shuddered. A moment later, a tearing sound filled the air as two colossal leathery black wings unfolded behind him, sending the moths fluttering away. 

His face had changed. Now it was jagged and long, and his thin flesh was a shade of midnight blue. His yellow slitted eyes bored into mine. There wasn’t a scrap of humanity in them. “I warned you to leave, didn’t I?” 

“Why did you do it?” I asked in an effort to buy myself time. I’d fought demons before, but I had no idea what kind this one was. If I could work that out, I had a chance of figuring out his vulnerabilities… 

“Why did I do what?”

“Why did you kill Mr. Kembolde? What brought you here?”

Lyle shrugged, sending the last of the moths fluttering from his shoulder. It joined the others as they flew back down the corridor. It seemed whatever shine Eznárez’s magic had revealed to them in Lyle wasn’t enough to keep them drawn to him. “I’m a demon. Killing’s what we do. You know that. I’ll tear your flesh to shreds and toss it down like bloody confetti, and you know that, too. I warned you to leave, didn’t I?”

It was true; he had. But why?

“He fears you,” Eznárez said. 

As Lyle approached, his hands spasmed and grew into long, misshapen things, and his nails curled into talons. 

He came at me so fast I barely had time to move. 

Claws raked my chest, and if I hadn’t fortified my magical shield before I’d entered the hotel, my heart would have been resting in his palm. 

I shoved him off of me. The sleeping man chained to the radiator was close by. I had to draw the demon away in case he used his victim as leverage.

Lyle leaped. His wings slammed me against the wall, and he hit me so hard I fell. I rolled away, kicking as he stooped for me. My boot found his face. His grin faded. 

I jumped to my feet and slugged him with all my might. Suddenly, it was his turn to fall. He struck the carpet and groaned with fury. I ran, as much to draw him from his victim as from the terror coursing through me. This demon, whatever he was, was strong. I didn’t have time to investigate him further. I just needed to end his vile life. 

The temptation to glance back was almost irresistible. But I ran on and ducked into a small darkened room that led to another. They weren’t hotel rooms; they were interconnected offices. Soon, I found myself immersed in gloom. The place was empty; no junkies, no lost souls, just me, the demon, and the darkness. 

“Coward!” Lyle called. 

I ignored him as I snuck through a warren of rooms before emerging by a door leading to the corridor. I glanced around its frame. 

Lyle was further along the passage with his head pressed against a wall, presumably listening for me. It seemed he was a cautious demon, which was my least favorite… 

“Where are you?” he called in a sing-song voice. “You’ll have to face me, eventually. Better to get it over with now. Because if you don’t, I’ll head downstairs and go room by room, slaughtering everyone I find. The walls and carpets will be crimson by the time I finish, and when you finally scuttle out from wherever you’re hiding, I’ll take you apart limb by limb.”

I ignored him. 

He paused before continuing. “What’s the matter?” he asked as he drew closer. “Is the big hero scared? You came to make your mark, didn’t you? Came to right a wrong. You puffed out your chest and strapped on your sword, and arrived with such lofty ambitions, but now you’re hiding like the coward you are. Is your hand trembling on your sword grip? Are your guts water yet?”

Again, I held my tongue. The situation reminded me of my younger years, and the blinkered bullies who’d harassed me at school. They’d liked to mock me too when I’d hidden from them, but eventually faced with my silence, their mockery would turn to doubt. Was I still there? Had I eluded them? What was I planning?

Doubt was a gateway to fear… and it was there in Lyle’s voice. He hated that he couldn’t see me. 

I had an idea. I secured the door and locked it before scraping my fingernails across the wall in a quick burst. Lyle’s footsteps came, light and limber, as he padded toward the wall. I scratched the plaster again, this time with the tip of Eznárez’s blade. 

The wall exploded as Lyle punched through it. 

I seized his arm before he could pull it away and snapped it. He howled. Before he could draw back, I drove Eznárez through the wall beside the hole he’d made and felt the tension as the blade punctured the demon. His howl turned into a scream. 

Lyle crashed through the wall. His eyes were wide, and he appeared utterly unhinged. The demon’s wings beat in a wild tattoo, sending dust and papers flying. 

I lunged forward to stab him through the heart with my sword, but he batted the blade away with his one good arm. There was a steely resolve in his eyes now, one that wouldn’t dim until he’d torn me apart. 

“I’ll-”

I never got to hear what he was planning on doing. And I didn’t need to… it would be painful and messy, that much was assured. I pulled my gun and fired. The bullets thudded into his gnarly hide and ruptured his wings. He grimaced as he absorbed them, but he didn’t falter. We both knew I was about to run out of ammo.

As the last bullet tore through the side of his throat, I thrust the empty gun into my pocket. There wasn’t time to reload. There wasn’t time for anything. 

Lyle seized my throat with one hand as the other lay limp beside him. I gripped his wrist with both hands and tried to pry him from me. The sinews on his limbs wriggled like worms and his breath was horrific; acidic, yet sweet and cloying. He grinned as I retched. 

I punched his broken arm. His smile slipped, but the steel in his eyes remained. 

The corridor darkened. Everything darkened. 

I couldn’t believe this was how I was going to die… I’d thought it might be at Evanora’s withered hands, or by whatever assassin she’d send after me. But not this. Not on some random case that had paid me next to nothing. Not on the blinkered side of the world… 

But perhaps it was fitting, for that was where my mother had passed. 

I punched Lyle, but the blow barely seemed to register with him. 

“Stop fighting,” he said. 

I shook my head, but my defiance only drew his laughter. I was weaponless, and the last of my strength had almost ebbed to nothing. I glanced away from him so I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my terror as the room and then the world darkened further. 

My gaze strayed to where Eznárez lay in the corridor outside. His blade was a dim green. His power was fading with mine. 

‘Come to me,’ I thought. ‘Please.’

“And if I do?”

“Then I’ll feed you like you’ve never feasted before.”

No reply. 

My head fell limp. I glanced down at the demon’s bare chest. His heart was pounding with the thrill of my ending. 

This was it. 

My final moment.

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Read below for the first three chapters of ‘Shadow Dawn’, Book 2 in the Nightkind Trilogy.

Spending time in the sewer’s ever deepening gloom wouldn’t have been my first choice for a Saturday night but there I was, up to my neck in it, so to speak. 

I grimaced as my boot squished something below the stagnant water and the stench of filth grew worse. Perhaps it was one of the many rat corpses festering in the tunnel or maybe it was a clue to the nature of the monster I was tracking but I wasn’t going to reach down and find out. 

An icy drop of water fell from the slimy ceiling and found the nape of my neck with almost perfect precision. My curse echoed around me. It seemed whatever mean, sick God of the sewers existed in its depths was throwing everything he had at making my time as miserable as possible. 

Was it my imagination or were the curved brick walls narrowing? It felt like they were slowly drawing in to crush me. 

The place was almost silent and even the drips seemed to cease the further into the stinking labyrinth I got, as if the sewers were conspiring and waiting to make their move. And then something shrieked and I hoped it was just a distant blast of wind despite it sounding exactly like a cry of terror. Perhaps, I thought, it was my own scream from some terrible future event, echoing back through time to mock me with the news of my death…

My thoughts were growing darker by the moment and they didn’t feel like my own. It was probably just the atmosphere in these seemingly endless tunnels where unwanted things came to disappear. I hoped I’d be a part of that cycle myself because I was very much looking forward to leaving behind a fresh corpse in this dank maze, providing I could find my client’s assailant. 

What a strange man he’d been. On the surface, the rat catcher had almost seemed normal but he’d had the same wildness in his eyes as a horse preparing to buck and flee. 

Whatever creature had found him in this wretched place as he’d left his traps for the vermin, had almost destroyed his remaining strands of sanity. 

When he’d first told me his garbled story, he’d said he hadn’t seen his assailant. But a few memories had returned to him since then, including a glimpse of a many-eyed creature that had dragged him to its lair, which had been stuffed full of corpses ‘like some morbid larder’. Thankfully for him, the beast had gone foraging and left him alone with the dead. He’d gotten lucky and had escaped but it had seemed as if he’d left something of himself behind in this unhallowed place. 

I glanced back as I recalled the rat catcher’s eyes, half concerned he’d lured me into the sewers for some weird sinister purpose. The orb of light I’d conjured bobbed and fizzed over my head, throwing ominous shadows upon the mossy walls. I paused as I glimpsed movement through the thick, milky blanket of webs covering the entrance to a side tunnel. 

As I pulled my sword, Eznárez, from my sheath and hacked at the webbing, I suppressed a shudder. Spiders weren’t exactly my favorite creatures… 

Something stirred at the end of the side tunnel. At first it looked like a silhouette but horribly elongated, like a disturbed artist’s rendering of a puppet’s shadow. I strode toward it, my sword in one hand, my flashlight in the other. I moved like I wasn’t remotely concerned and swept the light over the tunnel’s end. Unfortunately, the flashlight’s power wasn’t bright enough to reach it, which meant walking further. 

Great. 

Something was off in this tunnel, even more so than the one I’d left behind. I felt eyes watching me but my instincts told me it wasn’t the monster I’d been employed to slay. No, this presence seemed tangential to my mission. 

“Go!” I sent my orb of light floating across the thin black water to the end of the passage. It was empty but for a rusted grate and the shadows of an adjacent tunnel. 

I recalled the orb and was about to head back when the water below my feet stirred. At first, it reminded me of bubbles in a natural spring rising from below the ground, but that didn’t make any sense… And then I saw them… Hundreds of bulbous black bodies skittering across the tunnel floor toward the grate at the end. 

Spiders. 

I shuddered, but held my ground.

The creatures scurried away at first but then slowed and gathered. No, not gathered; it was as if their furry forms were merging to become a mass. Gradually, they formed the shape of the puppet-like figure I’d glimpsed before. Only this one was physical. Real. Present in the tunnel with me…

It changed and transformed into the likeness of a cloaked woman, animated by the hundreds of scuttling bodies. The spiders reassembled again and brought the woman’s hand up to point at me.

“What the actual-” My words faded as the spider figure took a faltering step toward me. 

I clenched the pommel of my sword and moved forward to meet her, doing my best to ignore my pounding heart and the icy water seeping into my boot. 

Was this the rat catcher’s monster? 

No. 

She was something else. 

Someone howled and another shriek followed. The sound came from behind me. The spider woman faltered and as a third cry followed, the spiders fell like a house of jittering cards and scuttled for a nearby vent.  

I took a deep breath of rancid air before turning back the way I’d come. 

I’d almost reached the main tunnel when something brushed the nape of my neck. It was like a ghostly tease of fingers and it instantly reminded me of the Hextress Parthenia. But she was dead, slain by my very hand. 

“What do you see?” I asked Eznárez, as his eye opened upon the pommel of my sword. 

“Death.”

“Great. Mine?” 

“Perhaps.”

“I know you’re not a man of many words, but-”

“I’m not a man!” He sounded furious. 

“Right, well, you get the gist of what I’m saying. What’s down here with me?”

“And I’ll say it again; death. You should have come prepared.”

I bristled with anger. Being chided by a cursed sword wasn’t exactly helpful under the circumstances but he had a point. I should have taken Johnny Deadlock up on his offer to come with me, but I’d wanted to deal with the job on my own, mostly because he’d had the shit beaten out of him at the fort and he needed to recover. But then so did I… 

Maybe, I thought, the day would come when I’d be strong enough to ignore the call of adventure but that day wasn’t today. 

Another shriek echoed down the tunnel. I hurried across it to a side passage and followed the desperate plea. 

I cupped my hand over my nose. The reek of decomposition was stronger. 

Something thudded behind me. 

I swept my flashlight into the gloom but whatever was there hurtled up into the shadowed ceiling. It moved fast and before I could track it with my light, it slithered into a huge, rusted pipe and vanished. 

A yowl of terror, agony or both, came from ahead. 

I splashed through the water into a narrow tunnel just in time to see three rat men racing into the shadows. Their lanterns bobbed in their furry hands and their eyes glistened in the murk. Usually they’d be a cause for concern but if they were fleeing something, then there were clearly worse things to worry about. 

Boom. 

Something dropped from the ceiling behind me. 

I spun around in time to catch sight of a thick, bulbous head, dozens of ruby-red eyes and a mouth that mostly filled the creature’s green, warty face. It growled, revealing spiked teeth and a long, slathering tongue. The tendrils on its back billowed like gray ribbons as it thrust one gangly arm down and splayed its sinewy fingers across the filthy ground as if feeling for my trail.

I took a faltering step toward my prey but before I could reach it, the creature sprang up from the ground and vanished into the shadows below the ceiling. I threw my orb of light after it but there was nothing to see but inky black gloom. 

‘What the hell are you?” My voice echoed around me but brought back no response, not that I’d been expecting one.  

The beast had smelled a lot like troll, but it wasn’t one. I’d never seen its like before. Of course, there were plenty of monsters I hadn’t encountered, especially in the hidden places below the city but this realization brought little comfort. 

I walked on, listening for the sound of the creature’s approach but then my boots crunched on the mounds of bones littering the tunnel until it was all I could hear. They seemed to be everywhere, gleaming eerily in the gloom and while most appeared to be human, some were clearly not. 

A soft, slithering sound came from behind me. It was gossamer thin, like a feather being trailed across a grainy wooden floor. I swept my flashlight across the ceiling but it was empty. It seemed my prey was as wily as it was repugnant. 

The bones grew in numbers, and the air began to reek of stale meat and old coppery blood.  

I stopped before a chamber with three rusted pumps resting in its center and a series of dull brass pipes snaking up into the ceiling. I stepped inside, mindful of the tunnel of bones behind me and whatever was following me. 

Eznárez’s eye opened and I angled the sword so he could watch my back. Whether he’d warn me of an impending attack was another matter altogether. I’d lost my trust in him since my battle with Parthenia in the mausoleum and now considered him as much an enemy as an ally.  

“Give me energy,” I whispered. Eznárez fed me magic right away. No hesitation. I cast a shield over my body just as Thaddeus had shown me and hoped it would hold because the monster’s claws had looked as sharp as freshly forged knives.

I swept my flashlight over the ground, revealing chunks of flesh, shattered skulls and part of a human face. There were also furred, bloodied torsos that clearly belonged to the rat men inhabiting the sewers. All in all, it was a treasure trove of vileness.  

A body that looked like a fresh kill was splayed over the top of an old shopping cart that had somehow found its way into the sewers. It was a woman of indeterminate age, her limbs stained reddish-brown with blood, her head hanging limply from her gashed neck. Flies buzzed around her like a shifting, pestilent aura. 

“Abadare!”

I spun around as something dropped from the ceiling in the tunnel behind me. 

The creature struck the ground, spraying me with filthy water but that was the least of my concerns. The monster was larger than it had appeared before, easily the size of an adult lion and its gangly body was coated in moss and mud… or what I hoped was mud. Its ruby-red eyes stared from its huge bulbous forehead and blinked as one.

I stepped back further into the chamber, stuffed my flashlight into my pocket and held my sword with both hands.  

The creature opened its mouth, exposing curved vicious teeth and hissed like a snake. It was a warning and as its eyes shifted to my side, I realized its concern lay with the corpse sprawled across the shopping cart.

“You think I want your food?” I shook my head. “It’s all yours. But have you considered using a little seasoning? A dab of Chipotle perhaps?”

The creature howled with fury.  

“Nope? Maybe a dash of-” My words faded as the creature padded toward me, drool slithering down its tongue and falling into the water at its feet. It seemed I was about to become a part of its meat feast. “Are you with me?” I asked Eznárez. 

“Of course.”

He said it like it was a foregone conclusion. Perhaps he was eager to dine, which was at least one thing I could rely on.  

I swung the sword as the monster leaped. 

It parried the blow with a scaly arm and almost knocked Eznárez from my hands. I  held my sword with one hand so I could summon a crackling red fireball with the other. I threw it into the creature’s face, causing it to howl and roll across the water. 

Before I could flee back to the main tunnel, it sprang at me. 

“Shit!” I almost retched as its long tongue shot out and licked my face, right across my eyes, gumming them up. 

“Left!” Eznárez hissed. 

I took his direction as the ground pounded beside me. “Where’s the cart?” I demanded as a hastily formed idea occurred to me. 

“Three steps behind you.” 

I wiped at the phlegm and managed to remove enough to see the blurry many-eyed horror advancing on me. I thrust the sword out and felt contact. It growled and backed away. 

“One more step to your left.”

I followed Eznárez’s directions without question and reached out, bristling as my hand found what felt like cold, damp toes. I tracked my fingers from the corpse to the side of the trolley and gave it a good kick. It tumbled over with a great splash. 

The beast howled again and as it leaped for its meal, it landed beside me. I stabbed it through the side. It gave a wretched cry and hobbled away. I might have felt sorry for it but as I un-gummed my eyes with my sleeve, I spotted the torn off face lying on the pile of bones beside me.  

“Come on!” I gripped Eznárez with both hands once more. 

The beast glanced down at its apparently ruined meal and charged like a crazed bull. I allowed it to come and raised my sword, letting it spear itself through the chest. Its many eyes blinked, drinking in the last sights they would see and then it slid down to the ground. It gave a soft, weak growl and its gangly limbs spasmed before finally falling still. 

I was about to clean my sword, when I caught a reflection in the rippling water. Something huge was scuttling across the ceiling above me and it was preparing to drop.

As I leaped aside, my foot slipped and I stumbled, fell, and landed in the filthy water, which reeked of sulfur and the metallic tang of blood. I jumped up, swung my sword in a wild slash behind me and gripped it tightly as it glanced off the creature’s rubbery hide. 

Boom!

The monster’s hand smashed into the ground, almost striking me. I spun back to see it in all its hideous glory. The previous creature had been the size of a lion. This one was the size of a small dragon. It roared, revealing dagger-like teeth and gleaming eyes. It hissed and a blast of hot, noxious air hit my face and sent my hair snaking around my head. 

I cast a spell to conjure a shield of protection and it had barely materialized before the beast’s claws raked through it, producing a shower of golden sparks. The second swipe destroyed the enchantment altogether. 

The monster backhanded me before I could get out of the way, sending me colliding with the shopping cart. It hurt like hell but I didn’t have time to focus on the pain.  

The creature’s monstrous tongue shot out, aiming for my eyes just as the other’s had but this time I was ready and I swung Eznárez in an arc, severing it. The tongue flopped in the water like a fat, grotesque snake. 

A low moan passed through the chamber as the sea anemone-like flora on the beast’s back billowed like ribbons in a winter’s breeze. It clutched its bloody mouth. 

I sent a hastily formed fireball sizzling toward the creature. The flames struck it in the forehead, right in its ruby-red eyes, and suddenly the air reeked of seared flesh. 

The monster charged. I leaped aside with all the deftness of a drunken bull fighter but still managed to clear myself from its path. It smashed into the wall behind me like a wayward train, causing a troubling amount of brick dust to rain down from the ceiling and a low rumble that I hoped didn’t mean the entire place was about to collapse…

I swung Eznárez as the creature’s fist flailed toward me and hacked it off at the wrist. The sword vibrated and the painted teeth along the length of its blade chittered madly as the steel glowed green with power. Eznárez fed.

The beast’s many eyes swiveled to its wound and stared at it as if willing the missing hand to return. Maybe it could bring it back for all I knew; I wasn’t going to wait around to find out. 

“Come on!” I snatched a skull from the ground and threw it. It clunked off the creature’s head, bringing another low, furious moan that built into a howl of rage. 

It ran at me.  

I thrust my sword before me, straight into its mouth. The sword juddered as it met a thick almost spongy resistance.

The monster backhanded me again, propelling me across the room. My entire body ached and tiny white dots danced before my eyes as I sought to recover. 

I had to get out of this confined space so I stumbled through the chamber’s door back into the tunnel. One more hit like that and I’d be down for the count.  

The creature stood poised, and it seemed like it was going to charge at me again but this time there’d be no escaping it. I was too dizzy to run, and too weak to cast a shield. 

I glanced up as a chunk of masonry fell from the ceiling, and conjured a ball of flames. The poorly made result wasn’t my best but it was enough for what I needed. I sent it hurtling up. The fireball filled the chamber with a dusky orange light as it struck the ceiling just as the monster charged at me. 

Thud!

The beast was almost at the door; its warty face contorted with rage, its eyes narrowed, its mouth slick with blood and thick foamy saliva. And then there was a cracking sound, and its mouth fell open as it glanced up and the ceiling caved in. Hundreds of red bricks cascaded down, filling the air with a cloud of dust and burying the monster beneath them.

I backed away and glanced at the tunnel’s ceiling, wondering if the devastation would spread and bring the entire sewers down on my head. What a place to die in… My enemies would rejoice for years. 

“You take too many risks,” Eznárez said. He sounded almost resigned. “You don’t value your life, Abadare, but I do.”

“That’s sweet of you,” I said as I hurried down the dark passage. 

“I need you to live.”

I was about to come back with a pithy line when I realized I didn’t have one. His words weren’t touching; they were revolting. He needed me to live just as any other parasite needed its host for survival.

It took a potent spell to mask the stench of the sewers and I wasn’t convinced it had fully worked because my blinkered cab driver kept glancing into the driver’s mirror at me, his brow furrowing with concern. It was like he knew something was off, almost literally, but wasn’t sure what. On the plus side, he didn’t want to talk. 

I walked the last block to my apartment above the massage parlor and wondered what I’d find at home, providing the entire place hadn’t burned down. 

Johnny Deadlock had been my unofficial lodger for more days than I cared to consider. I liked the guy; he was one of the funniest people I’d met and seemed to possess an endless supply of effervescent charm… But it was like sharing a house with a giant, friendly tiger that could go off the rails at a moment’s notice and tear its surroundings to shreds. 

I wondered what he’d been up to while I’d been battling beasts in the sewers. I half expected to find him sprawled on the couch, surrounded by empty beer bottles. Man, could he drink… 

He had to get his own place. I’d rehearsed my it’s time to move out speech but I still questioned what had happened to him in the jail inside the fort. And what the demon or whatever the hell Rannulf Gaunt had been, had done to him prior to my arrival. For while Johnny was as affable as ever, there was still an occasional shadow in his gaze. 

The lights were on as I approached the apartment so he was definitely home. I couldn’t hear music and there were no cop sirens or flickering orange flames… So far, so good. 

I paused as I unlocked the front door and stepped into the hallway. 

Something was off…

“What the hell?” I mumbled.  

The place was cleaner and tidier than I’d seen it in a long time. A very long time. I didn’t even know it was possible given the place’s seemingly irremovable dust infestation. 

“You stink,” Johnny said as he sat at the kitchen table sipping what looked like milk. 

“Is that a White Russian?”

“Nope. It’s milk.”

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I am.” I opened the fridge. It was empty. “No beers?”

“Nope. I visited the liquor store…”

“And?”

Johnny shrugged. “I had to leave.”

“Why?”

“Too many choices. It hurt my head, so I came back and tidied up instead.”

“I saw that. You did a good job. Thanks.”

He shrugged. “I find it therapeutic. Unless there’s booze at hand.”

“Yeah, well, there isn’t. Or food.”

“I was going to get some.”

“And?”

“Same thing as the liquor store. Too many choices. I don’t know how blinkereds deal with it. And then there’re the lights and the screens, and all that bleeping shit. Those people are insane.”

“Yep. Well,” I glanced back at the fridge. “I need to eat. How about a curry?”

“Sounds good. Are you going to use a spell on your phone to order a blinkered to cook supper and bring it here?” 

“It’s called a takeout, and they’re paid for making and bringing them. It’s not magical. But no, I want to go and eat and get a couple of drinks while I’m at it. Coming?”

“Sure. On one condition…”

“What?” 

Johnny wafted his hand under his nose. “You shower first, Shit Lord.”

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The post An Exclusive Preview of ‘Shadow Dawn’, Book 2 in the ‘Nightkind’ Urban Fantasy Trilogy appeared first on Kit Hallows.

Read below for the first three chapters of my brand new Urban Fantasy novel ‘Shadow Heist’, Book 1 in The Nightkind Trilogy.

The house was in the middle of nowhere. Far from the leafy lanes and huddled homes, far from the still moonlit lake, and rundown trailer park. About as far from the normal places where normal people lived as you could get. In other words, it was my kind of place.
Locating the hidden turning for the private, wooded lane took more magic than I wanted to use. My client had given me the exact coordinates, but the concealing spell masking the road still made me shoot by it the first time.
I slowed and turned onto the narrow, bumpy track. It took a while to catch the gleam of distant lights shining through the trees. I pulled over, climbed out into the chilly October night, and made an inventory.
Gun loaded… Check. Knife in sheath… Check. Cursed vampiric sword by my side… Check. The weapon’s hidden magic pulsed through me as I touched its hilt, making me shiver. It was like its power was seeking a release. It wouldn’t have long to wait.
I padded through the trees. The last thing I needed was to alert my prey; he already had the advantage. And if the accounts my client had given me were accurate, and despite my intense dislike of her, I had no reason to believe they weren’t, things were going to get wild and bloody.
The sword’s blade rumbled in its sheath. It was feeding time.
I stood at the edge of a clearing and scanned the house in its center. It was a big place, rustic, expensive, and with plenty of windows for my prey to watch me through.
Was he waiting for me? Had he caught my scent?
The wind shook the branches, and the moon emerged from behind wispy white clouds. The house and its surroundings were beginning to resemble a horror movie set.
“Right,” I muttered in a lame attempt to ready myself for what was coming. The job would keep me from homelessness for a couple of months, and if I was lucky, there might even be enough cash left over for food.
A car was parked haphazardly on the gravel drive before the house. Its windscreen was gone and shards of glass glinted beside its slashed tires. Someone, or something, had left five gigantic claw marks along its dented side.
A woman lay next to the vehicle, her still hand reaching toward me. Dark splatters spotted the back of her coat and blood leaked below her like an oil stain.
The house’s main door was ajar and hung wonky on its frame. I raised my gun and listened, but all I heard was the wind shaking the trees and my thumping heart.
Another body lay past the broken door; a man lying on his back. His face was etched with horror, and his chest was wide open. His blood decorated the walls and carpet like abstract art in a pretentious gallery.
I crept past him into a living room.
The newspapers and magazines littering the floor were at least a decade out of date. An old-fashioned television lay upon its side, its screen jagged shards of glass, and the paintings on the walls above it hung lopsided, their canvases broken, their subjects so torn I couldn’t make them out.
A sense of spent anger laced the air.
My quarry was close. Was he listening for me, just as I was listening for him? I tried not to think about the claw marks slashed across the side of the car outside. I’d faced worse.
Something flashed in a patch of moonlight upon the carpet. A locket. The picture of the woman on the left side oval looked a lot like my client, only a couple of decades older, and the toddler beside her shared her thick red hair and serious eyes.
Was this the child my client had said the beast had slain?
I gripped my gun, eager to meet my quarry and to end his twisted life.
Something shifted above me.
Someone was upstairs.
I made my way to the stairwell, cursing myself for not bringing backup. The state of the corpses suggested my current task should have been a two-person job, maybe more. Coming alone had been another screw up in a string of rash decisions I’d made of late. More cutting corners. I hoped I wasn’t going to pay a much greater price than the couple of thousand dollars I’d saved by setting out on my own.
Another creak came from the landing, and the sound of crying, or laughter. It was hard to tell which.
I held my breath as I climbed. My limbs trembled with adrenaline and excitement. I hadn’t lost my lust for adventure after my former employers at the Organization had terminated my contract. No, the reckless urge for thrill chasing, which would probably be my undoing one day, was still present and correct.
The door ahead groaned open, and I caught a scent of blood and… wine?
Was my quarry drunk?
The bright green eye set into my sword’s pommel opened and fixed me with a piercing gaze. I nodded. You’ll feed soon enough, I thought. Sooner than I’d probably wish for.
I’d already realized the sword was far more nuanced than it had first appeared when I’d found it in that vile magician’s home. That it was something I should rid myself of as quickly as possible. But as it rumbled in my hand, I no longer cared what its hidden intentions were; I was just glad to have it with me. And if it was serving itself more than it was serving me, so be it. I still needed every ounce of its magic…
I froze as someone roared inside the room ahead. A moment later something crashed to the floor.
It seemed the beast was goading himself into a growing rage.

I steadied my hand as I trained my gun ahead of me and crept up the remaining stairs. A broken door stood ahead, and as I glanced through its gap, a shadow flitted across the wall. It was a slight figure, definitely not what I was expecting. It stooped down and hurled something that smashed inside the room.
I’d almost reached the top of the stairs when the step beneath my feet creaked.
The shadow froze and turned toward the broken door.
“Who’s there?” The voice was male, young, and almost childlike. I’d encountered plenty of demons masquerading as children, but this was different. It didn’t smell like a demon… It smelled like a beast.
“My name’s Abadare Glynt,” I called back, trying to keep my voice unthreatening. Like I’d just happened upon this broken house and held no ill intentions.
He stepped into the doorway.
I put his age at eighteen at the most, and his thin red beard was more down than stubble. He swept the ends of his long, auburn hair off the shoulders of his flannel shirt, and blinked rapidly, as if trying to focus on me. A tang of sour wine filled the air and as he limped toward me, I smelt the blood splattered upon his clothes. “Who are you?” His voice changed. It was a subtle shift, but I caught a snatch of a fleeting, deeper tone.
“I already told you.”
He glanced at my gun and pulled a knife from the waistband of his bloodied jeans.
“Put it down,” I said.
He laughed and strode back into the room. I followed.
The place was a tip. Every item that had decorated its walls lay smashed upon the torn-up carpet. The boy perched on the base of an upturned cabinet and almost ignored me while he scraped the dried blood from his fingernails with the tip of his knife.
I paused as something cracked below my shoe; a photograph torn up in a broken frame. It showed the boy before me, only younger, maybe ten or twelve and standing beside the lady who’d hired me. “What happened?” I asked.
“What do you think happened?” His stare was bleary and tired.
“I think you killed those people downstairs.”
“Yep.”
“And I think you killed your brother.”
His laughter was gravelly and strained. “I don’t have a brother. I’m all alone in this big bad world.”
And that was when everything fell into place. My client had lied; she hadn’t hired me to save lives, she’d paid me to end one.
“She sent you, didn’t she?” He struggled to his feet.
“She told me you killed her son.” I lowered the gun, but only partially.
“I am her son.”
“Who’s blood’s that?” I nodded at his filthy clothes.
“It belongs to the man and woman she sent to kill me.”
“Who did you kill before that?”
“No one. Just animals when I had to feed. I never asked for this curse.”
“Who’s house is this?”
“My grandmother. She died a few years back. My mother sent me to live here because she wanted me out of the way. It’s a prison, Mr. Glynt.” He used my name mockingly. I let it go. “A place to hide unsightly things.” He made an almost flawless impression of his mom when he said that.
“You shouldn’t have killed those people.”
“So, what should I have done instead?” He leaped up, pulled a mini bottle of vodka from his pocket, and took a deep swig.
I shrugged.
“Prick!” He threw the bottle. It barely missed my head. His face shifted from human to something else; something wolfish. Something powerful.
“Calm down.” I held out my hand toward him.
“Calm down?” He grinned. His teeth had grown a lot larger than they’d been before, and patches of hair had sprouted across his face. “So you can put me down like a dog?”
“I don’t want to-” My words faded as he fell onto all fours with a thud. The transformation was fast. He grimaced as he arched his back and his shirt tore down its seams. Fury, fear and frustration filled his animal howl.
I backed out of the room and tried slamming the door as a makeshift barrier between us, but it came away in my hands. I wanted to put a bullet between his eyes, but I felt bad for the kid. We’d both been set up.
There wasn’t any fear or frustration in his voice as he roared again. Only fury.
I put a warning shot into the wall beside him. He grinned as the dust and plaster rained down around him. There wasn’t even a scrap of humanity left in his eyes.
“You want to do this?” I asked. “Really?”
He came at me fast.
I squeezed off two shots into his dominant arm.
He yelped but kept coming. I threw out my hands as he charged into me, sending me flying back through the air.
I struck the floor so hard I barely had time to take aim before he smashed the gun from my hand. Slather dripped into my face as he leaped astride me. I recoiled from the overwhelming stench of wine and bile and as he leaned in close, the rags of flanneled shirt hanging from his furred back were the only reminders of the boy he’d been before.
He raised a paw to pound into my face. My shielding spell took most of the blow, but it still hurt like hell as he repeatedly slammed it into my temple. I brought my knee up into his groin and, as he howled again, I punched him where I’d shot him. It was enough to slow him.
I shoved him off and rolled across the floor and over the broken bannisters. I fell and struck the stairs and pulled myself up to my feet as his shadow did the same. The floorboards shook as he stalked across the landing to the top of the stairs.
My sword rumbled, reminding me of its presence. As I unsheathed it, the eye on its pommel blinked, and the tiny teeth painted along the crimson ridge of the blade gnashed together.
“Stop!” I called as the werewolf loomed at the top of steps, gazing hungrily down at me.
I backed down the staircase, seeking even ground. He followed one stair at a time, his steps exaggerated like he was playing the big bad wolf and I was a child suffering a nightmare brought on by one too many bedtime fairytales.
He grinned. He wouldn’t stop until his claws had turned my flesh to ribbons.
“Roar!” He growled and held out his claws. His laughter was low and guttural as I reached the ground floor and backed away through the broken house, my sword held before me.
My blade shone with an eldritch green glow that matched the eye set into the pommel. The sword gave me a burst of energy that eclipsed my core magic as the wolf sprang to the foot of the stairs, and landed with an almighty thud that felt like it had shaken the whole house. “I’ll huff and I’ll puff!” He growled.
“Yeah, and you’ll blow my house down. Except it isn’t my house, it’s your house, you moron.”
He roared and punched his fist through the wall beside him.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said, as his shadow eclipsed mine. “You’ve already had enough pain in your life.”
He panted so hard that his tongue slathered down to his furred chest, and a flash of hunger lit up his eyes.
As I backed away, I wondered if there was even the slightest chance in hell I’d make it to my car before he brought me down…
Nope.
I stumbled over the corpses in the hallway. I’d be joining them soon enough.
He came at me, running headlong in a red and a brown blur, his claws splayed and tensed.
All notions of a peaceful resolution were gone.
There was only one option left…
Kill or be killed.

I raised my sword and raced to meet the beast as it shot toward me. It ran up the wall, vaulted over me, and landed with a heavy thud in the hallway behind me, blocking the door.
“Let me feed. I can end him,” my sword whispered.
The werewolf cocked his head as if he’d heard it, but it was impossible; the sword spoke to me and me alone.
I strode past the corpse my opponent had left sprawled across the floor, and fixed my attention on his claws. If he was anything like the other werewolves I’d encountered, he’d slash me to slow me before tearing my flesh apart with his teeth. But he was drunk, and that made him unpredictable.
He arched his back and his howl was horrifically loud in the confined space, just as he’d intended.
I cast a spell to mute him and slowly approached him as he howled again. This time, I was unaffected by the din, which threw him off guard. So did the bullet I fired into the exact place where I’d injured him before.
He gnashed his teeth and scored his claws into the wall’s plaster. His yellowed eyes fixed on mine.
“Last chance!” I warned. I was certain he wouldn’t take it, but I also needed to live with my actions once the mess was over. If I survived…
He barreled toward me.
I waited until his eyes were close enough for me to see their bloodshot vessels, before running my sword through his heart.
The blade blazed with glowing green light as it fed, and after it had taken as much of his essence as it could, it passed me the magic it couldn’t store. I didn’t need it. My opponent was dead.
As the beast transformed back to the boy he’d been, I glanced away. I didn’t want to see it, so I kept my gaze fixed upon the staircase along the passage until I heard him slump to the floor. I sheathed my sword and took a photo of his corpse with my phone.
The wind shook the trees as I left the house and strode past the bloody devastation on the drive. I barely gave it a second thought. I was focused on one thing and one thing only; settling up.

***

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to!” Ms. Swift barked. She held the front door half open between us like a shield.
“I’m talking to the person who had me do this.” I showed her the photo of her son lying dead in his grandmother’s hallway.
Her gaze flitted over it and when she looked at me again, there was little emotion in her eyes other than mild irritation. “I’ll pay you as we agreed, and I’ll thank you to keep your attitude in check.”
“My attitude… You lied to me, Ms. Swift. That boy…”
“Was a monster.”
“He could have gotten help.”
Her laugh was cold and mirthless. “I gave my life trying to help him.”
“Did you?” I glanced from her plush townhouse to the perfectly manicured garden, and the pond at its center with the pale marble water nymph statues staring down at me. There was no way her neighbors, who had to be mostly blinkered, knew about the magic in their midst. “Somehow, I can’t see how your son could have fit into this neighborhood. Not with his condition.”
“Which was why I bade him to move away.”
“Right. And then you sent a couple of assassins after him when he became too much to handle. You know, if I was still working for the Organization I’d take you in.”
“But you don’t. They fired you, and frankly Mr. Glynt, it’s not surprising.” Clearly, she’d done her research.
“Fuck you very much.” I strode away, but came to a halt. I hadn’t collected my money…
The shit-eating grin on her face made me want to break several things in quick succession. “I assume you want paying, Mr. Glynt?” She raised a supercilious eyebrow.
“Yep.”
“Maybe you should have considered that before your little outburst.”
I matched her smile with my own. “It’s fine, Ms. Swift. If you’d like me to show your blinkered neighbors just who they’re living with, I can oblige.”
“You can’t reveal magic to non-magical citizens. It’s against the law!”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about the law. That ship sailed long ago.”
“Then maybe I should contact the Organization and ask them to pay me a visit so I can tell them what you said.”
“Go ahead. Given your status, they’ll probably send someone out right away, but it won’t be fast enough to stop me exposing you to everyone around you first.” I cast a quick spell to animate the statues. The curvier of the three water nymphs raised the large leaf hiding her modesty, and winked at Ms. Swift.
“Stop it!” She glanced up at the neighboring houses. “Hold on!”
She vanished into her house, returned with a handful of hundred-dollar bills, and threw them at me. I gave her a quick dance and held out my hands out as the cash rained down around me. “I don’t quite have what it takes for lap dances, Ms. Swift, but I’ll do my best. Keep the money coming.”
She slammed the door with a definitive thud.
“You might want to send someone to clean up your son’s corpse too,” I called through her letterbox. “As well as those two assassins he mauled to death.” I grabbed the money from the garden, counted it, stuffed it into my coat, and headed to my landlord’s house for even more fun.

***

My apartment was on the edges of the blinkered part of town, right over a nail parlor that clearly existed for more nefarious purposes than removing cuticles. It was a dingy, decrepit place; not that my landlord, Mr. Grosbeak, had probably ever set out to visit it from his lavish home in the Magical Quarter.
Grosbeak had made an obscene amount of cash with his various properties, but he hid it well. Whenever I saw him, he wore the same old cheap, un-ironed shirt and tie, frayed trousers and scuffed shoes. Whether this was an intentional attempt to conceal his riches, or down to his miserly nature, was a mystery to me. He was a repulsive, squat little man with a crooked back, as if all the years of housing people in squalor had weighed down on him.
As I arrived in Dauphire Street, one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in town, I spotted the car parked outside Grosbeak’s townhouse. Its cracked, tinted windows, dented sides, and broken taillights fitted in with the surroundings about as much as I did.
Were they there for Grosbeak, or me?
I gave the car a cursory glance as I strode by. The two men sitting inside looked like they had more than a passing acquaintance with steroids and temper tantrums. I curtsied to them.
“Abadare,” Grosbeak said as he opened his door. He looked harried, and his dark eyes were definitely more skittish than usual. I heard the car door open behind me, but he held up a hand and it thunked shut.
“Are your friends here for me?”
“I, yes, well…” Grosbeak took a deep breath. “Have you got my money?”
“Don’t I always?”
“No, you don’t. You’re two months late.”
“I told you I had a problem.” I held up a finger as he began planning his response. “It’s the first time I’ve missed a payment in the five years I’ve rented that hellhole from you. And now you’re trying to intimidate me with two-bit thugs? You’re a class act, Mr. Grosbeak.”
“Well, I-”
“If you want me out, just say so. But you’ll need to give me notice; in the mail, rather than via impotent wannabe thugs looking for broken jaws. I’m saying this for the sake of your health and wellbeing, as well as mine.”
“Are you threatening me, Glynt?”
“Nope, I’m telling you.” I thrust a fistful of cash into his hand. “There you go. You can sleep well tonight knowing you don’t need to worry about any more delayed payments.”
“You used to be one of my best tenants.” Grosbeak’s eyes grew misty, as if he was reflecting on a treasured memory. “You’ve changed, Abadare. You’re not the man you used to be.”
“I’m exactly the same man you rented your squalid apartment to. I just don’t work for criminals anymore.”
“The Organization aren’t criminals! You’re the crim-”
“They stitched me up.” I felt my blood pressure rising and forced myself to take a deep breath.
“You’ve fallen far. I’ve seen it before, believe me. Do you have any idea how many of my tenants I’ve seen descend into the gutter?”
“Most of them, I’d imagine. I mean, you’re not exactly renting out luxury penthouses, are you? I’m already halfway into the gutter.”
“You used to be someone. You were… respectable. Now look at you. You’re lucky I’m housing you, Glynt, although I can’t promise it will stay that way for much longer. You’re on a downward spiral, my friend.”
“I’m not your friend.” I stepped toward him, forcing him back inside his house. The car door opened behind me again, but I ignored it. “Now, I’ve paid you what I owed you, so we’re even. Right?”
“For now. Like I said, you’re on a slippery slope.”
“If I want wisdom, I’ll go get some fortune cookies.” I headed for my car and ignored the goons as I swept past them. I would have relished a good, honest fight, but I needed to calm my temper before it blew up and left me in an even worse position than I was currently in.
I climbed into my car and sped away.
The night felt as black as the sky above me. My life appeared to be sliding back into the same dumpster fire it had been in since I’d been unceremoniously canned by the Organization a year ago. And it seemed each time I tried to climb out, someone was standing by waiting to stamp on my fingers to send me tumbling back in.
I’d get out. And there’d be scores to settle once I did.
I drove through the Magical Quarter to my office on Barrow Street. I unlocked the door and made my way up the narrow stairs to the tiny rooms at the top, which had once belonged to an accountant’s office. For now, it housed my Detective Consultancy Business although if the Silverton Agency, who’d set up shop across the street from me, vacuumed up any more of my clients, it wouldn’t be for much longer. I slumped into my chair and glanced through the blinds.
Despite the late hour, the lights blazed in the grand old building housing the Silverton Agency, meaning they were good and busy while I wasn’t either of those things. The only clients I seemed to end up with were people like Mrs. Swift; vultures bypassing the Silvertons for the cheapest option.
I yawned and leaned back in my chair. I was done with worrying for the day. I needed to make an action plan to turn things around, but it could wait until the morning.
The bottle of scotch inside my desk looked more and more tempting, but I was too tired to drink, and I was definitely too tired to drive home.
Instead I swigged down a hit of Hedgeberry potion to make a start on healing my wounds, kicked my feet up on the empty desk, and took a nap that lasted until the sunlight streamed through the blinds, filling my tired old office with rays of golden light.

The post An Exclusive Preview of ‘Shadow Heist’, Book 1 in the new Urban Fantasy Trilogy appeared first on Kit Hallows.

Are you ready for a new Urban Fantasy adventure? I’m in the process of writing (and publishing) a trilogy called ‘The Nightkind’. These books take place during the events of The Order Of Shadows, and I’ll share a lot more about them soon.

To kick things off, I’ve also written a short novella called ‘The Curse’, which is a prequel to The Nightkind, so you can meet my new protagonist, Abadare Glynt. Simply click the image above or the link below to get your copy:

DOWNLOAD ‘THE CURSE’

I hope you enjoy the new adventure.
Cheers!

Kit

The post Get your free Urban Fantasy Novella – The Curse appeared first on Kit Hallows.

Chapter 1

The distant whistle seemed to come from a twilight place, rousing Harry from where he lay face down on his desk, his head resting on his arms. He stirred and raised a leaden hand to the back of his neck as he tried to determine if the icy breeze was real or imagined.

When he glanced up, he appeared like a man waiting for a hammer blow to rain down upon him. The screen glowed polar white and the tiny black cursor blinked as if admonishing him for resting on the job. He closed the spreadsheet and gazed at the whiskey beside the keyboard, its amber glow diluted by the melted ice cubes.

Harry took a deep sip and toasted Charlotte and Abby who smiled, frozen in time, on the desktop wallpaper. There’d been no troubles in that moment on that seasonably cold English beach, but that afternoon was a world away and the Harry standing beside them was not the Harry currently slumped on his desk. In the picture he was the right side of thirty and there was a lot less gray in his choppy hair. Less pain in his smile and no black smudges below his eyes from the sleep he’d missed since that distant day. He reached to turn the PC off but paused as a cold breeze wafted by.

Were the patio doors open? Impossible. He’d checked them at least twice already.

Something flickered at the edge of his vision; a subtle movement in the garden. Night pooled over the lawn, its depth so thick it was hard to see the trunks of the apple trees below the marbled blue-grey clouds that drew across the moon like shrouds.

He froze as a patch of deep black stirred in the gloom.

Was someone outside?

Harry set his whiskey down and grabbed the flashlight from the table. Its weight reassured him, but he still paused before opening the patio doors. He glanced to the ceiling, picturing Abby asleep, blissfully unaware.

The November night was still; he must have imagined the breeze. He shivered as he stepped outside. It seemed the long, soggy autumn had finally surrendered to winter. A scent of spent fireworks hung in the air, the bitter tang of gunpowder blending with the mulch and damp. Nothing moved past the trees at the end of the garden, nothing was out of place but, as Harry began to head back inside for a final sweep of the house, it seemed that something stirred outside again.

He gazed back into the darkness…

There – a tall figure standing perfectly still.

He could almost feel its gaze, but then a strange, unwelcome thought drifted into his mind. The figure wasn’t watching him; it was watching Abby’s room.

Harry’s heart pounded as he gripped the flashlight and strode down the lawn past the darkness bathing the neighbors’ houses. He swung the light along the garden’s length, illuminating dewy grass and piles of dead leaves. The beam flickered as it slashed the gloom, but he couldn’t see anything except scratchy black trees. The figure must have been a phantom conjured by his imagination; yet another ghost haunting his exhausted mind.

“What…” Harry pulled the flashlight back as something skittered past his shoe. A rat?

His flesh crept as he swept the light by his feet, but whatever had been there had already scuttled beneath the rhododendron bushes.

He headed back to the house, eager for warmth and light. He slid the patio doors shut, locked them, and twisted the handles to make sure they were secure. But as he glanced at the garden for a final check, the feeling that had been dogging him for days returned. That the scripts people lived by had been rewritten. That the cogs behind the scenes had reversed, and a door had opened, bringing a dissolution as inevitable as the seasons changing.

It was nonsense, of course. Illogical. He had no time for superstition; he’d simply had a bad week. Another bad week.

He switched the lights off and was about to head upstairs when the ritual took hold. Harry returned to the patio doors and examined them again along with every window on the first floor, before double-checking the front door. Only once he was certain that everything was securely locked, did he climb the stairs to the waiting gloom.

Abby’s soft snores sounded through the gap in her door. Harry stole a glance inside to where she lay asleep in a pool of moonlight. She looked peaceful, younger than her twelve years, as if the weight of the world, and the horrors she’d faced that year, had slipped from her shoulders for a few hours at least. “Goodnight, princess,” he whispered.

Harry entered his bedroom, sat on the edge of his bed, and took a deep slug of the whiskey he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying.

Outside, the whistle sounded again, but this time he didn’t hear it.

A heavy rattle woke Abby.

She sat up and checked the time on her alarm through half-closed eyes.

Three thirty-seven.

She began to lie back down, but the rattle came again and it took a moment for her sleepy mind to realize the sound was coming from the phone on the dresser.

As Abby watched its faint glow, her mood shifted from one of foreboding to excitement.

Was she in?

She shook her head. Why would they choose her? What could she possibly have that they’d want? But someone had sent a message…

The light winked out.

She wanted to snatch the phone up, but caution told her to switch the thing off. To back out while there was still time. And yet, if she had been chosen and the stories were true…

The phone flashed a second time. Her heart sank. She had the feeling the first message was now irrelevant. Josh had ordered her to answer the summons right away, no matter the hour, and she hadn’t.

Abby’s fingers trembled as she reached for the phone. She paused, took a breath, and unlocked it. The red tick mark by the StarFlash app meant a new message had arrived. Only one. She’d been right. The first message wasn’t there.

She tapped the cartoonish envelope in the app:

-You’re out

Her fingers flew across the glass.

-Sorry. I’m awake now. Tell them to contact me again…

The phone faded to black.

Abby stared at the screen, willing it back to life, willing Josh to change his mind. She had to know if what they’d said was true… if they really could do what they’d promised. If there really was a final chance to make things right and to say goodbye, even though it was impossible.

Her heart skipped as the phone rumbled. She grabbed it and read the message.

-Last chance. Are you going to do whatever it takes?

-Yes!

Another pause.

-Meet me the day after tomorrow. Lunch hour at the hut.

Abby’s thumbs raced.

-Thanks!

She waited, but the screen turned black. Abby crept back to bed as the bathroom door creaked in the hall. Her dad wasn’t sleeping either, not that that was surprising. A part of her wanted to talk to him, to tell him what was going on, and more importantly, what could happen next. But he wouldn’t believe her. She almost didn’t believe it herself, not fully.

Abby drew the bed covers up to her chin and allowed herself a smile. Perhaps she’d been given another chance. Maybe she was in after all.

And then her grin slipped and instead of feeling happy, she realized she’d never felt so lost.

Harry grimaced as Terence continued berating Emma, his tone growing increasingly waspish. The others hunkered down in their cubicles, staring at their screens and pretending to work as they listened to the drama unfold, as if there was any choice in the matter.

Emma didn’t deserve the lecture. Some idiot had driven into the back of her car that morning, making her late, not that Terence cared. Apparently it was the second time she’d been late that month and if he acknowledged things sometimes went wrong in people’s lives then he’d lose a golden opportunity to belittle and threaten his staff. And that wasn’t going to happen.

“It’s always something, isn’t it?” Terence’s voice drifted from his office. The door stood ajar, as it always did whenever he took someone to task. That way everyone got to hear him so they’d know who was in charge, as if there were any doubts.

Harry imagined repeatedly ramming Terence’s head into his desk, but let it go. Instead, he paged through the stream of emails in his inbox; a seemingly endless trail of demands, each more urgent than the last, at least in their senders’ minds.

Soon, a sense of dullness took hold and he glanced out the window to where dark clouds gathered over the old courthouse beside their office. It was only two in the afternoon, but he was already tired. A nap would be good, or better yet a full eight hours of sleep; something he hadn’t achieved for more months than he cared to consider.

Terence’s voice droned on, meaning he was still occupied. Harry called Abby again. Nothing. He switched to text and typed;

– Call me.

If she didn’t reply soon, he’d leave, and screw Terence’s last-minute overtime request. No, not request, demand. Harry glanced up as Emma left Terence’s office, her fake, teetering smile almost as watery as her eyes.

“Want a coffee?” He offered. If Emma heard him, she showed no sign as she returned to her desk. Terence watched from between the slats of his blinds, assessing the room, and Harry turned away before his face betrayed him. He reached for his cell phone as it vibrated with a call.

– Abby

He strode to the photocopier, just out of Terence’s line of vision.

“Hi, Dad.”

“I’ve been calling,” Harry whispered as he traced a finger down the crack on the photocopier’s lid. It seemed someone had punched it, which wasn’t surprising given how barely contained anger and festering contempt had become the new normal in the office over the last few weeks.

“I’m at school.” Abby’s voice was almost admonishing.

“Yeah, I know, sorry. Look, I’m probably going to need to work late tonight. Is there any chance-”

“You want me to go to Kaitlyn’s after school?”

“Is that okay?”

“Of course. Kaitlyn’s mum said she’s going to cut me my own keys.”

Her tone was playful, but it didn’t take the sting out of it. She was right; she’d practically moved into Kaitlyn’s house, so much so that Kaitlyn’s mother had taken to calling Abby her second daughter. “Thanks, Abs.” Harry forced a smile even though she couldn’t see him.

“No problem.”

She sounded relieved not to have to go home. He couldn’t blame her; their house had all the atmosphere of a hospice of late. He’d need to turn that around… how long had he been telling himself that?

“So what time are you picking me up?”

“About-” Harry paused as someone laughed on the other end of the call. It was a nasty, mocking tone. “Who’s that?”

A pause. “No one. Listen, I need to get back to class. I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Sure. Love you.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

Harry shoved his phone into his pocket as footsteps approached behind him. The eye-watering prick of aftershave announced Terence long before he spoke. “Can I have a word, Harry?”

“Sure.” Harry turned to find Terence standing far too close, just as he always did. He was two feet shorter than Harry, meaning Harry often had to do his best not to appear like he was looking down on the man, despite there being no choice. Harry followed him to his office.

“Leave the door open,” Terence said, as Harry reached to close it.

Harry pushed it shut.

“I said-”

“If you’re going to give me a bollocking, then I’d sooner the whole office doesn’t have to hear it. I’m no expert but I imagine HR would say that’s best practice. Privacy, and all that.”

Terence’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t argue. He was a careful predator who knew precisely what he could get away with.

“So?” Harry forced a smile and remained standing. Sitting would prolong the conversation, and his claustrophobia was already kicking in.

“We’re on a deadline, Harry. You know that.”

“I do.”

“Which means I need you to keep personal calls for your lunch hour. Account managers need to be fully present at this time of year. It’s vital.”

“I don’t have a lunch hour. I haven’t taken any time out today. I worked through, just like you suggested even though we’re entitled to a break.”

Terence nodded, but it was clear it wasn’t in agreement.

“And,” Harry continued, doing his best to keep his voice measured, “I called my daughter to make sure she had somewhere to go after school. Because I can’t pick her up when I should do, because I’m working overtime. Again.”

“If you worked regular hours, you’d have found a permanent solution to that problem, Harry. Sanjeev and Cath’s kids are at school, they manage.”

“I’m not Sanjeev or Cath. My circumstances are different. They’ve got partners. I’m a single parent.”

Terence steepled his fingers and blew out a long, labored breath. Shit, Harry thought, he’s about to get deep. He almost detested Terence’s pseudo wisdom as much as the wanton bullying.

“You need to move on, Harry.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s been seven months since…” He let his words trail away.

“Since Charlotte died?”

“Yes.”

“So what are you saying? That I should have gotten over it by now?”

Terence gave a slight nod but quickly contradicted the gesture. “No, I’m not saying that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

The fake sympathy melted, and a flash of fury lit his eyes. “I’m saying I need you to be present. Fully present. Your daughter…”

“Abby.”

“Abby. She’s twelve, right?”

“And?”

“And she needs you to keep a roof over her head and support her.”

Harry let out a slow, controlled breath. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“What I’m saying is, I need you to focus on your job. Far more than you are.”

“I was working on the report at gone midnight last night, Terence. At home. In my downtime. Am I going to be paid for it? Nope, thought not.”

Terence leaned forward. “We’ve got to pull together. It’s our busiest time of year. You don’t need me to tell you that. And, to be frank, I don’t appreciate the way you speak to me. I’m your superior.”

Harry repressed a snort.

“You need to move on, Harry. That’s all I’m saying.”

“You mean in life, or in my job?”

“Your life, and yeah, maybe your job too. If things don’t change, and I mean drastically.”

It felt like a punch to the gut. Harry had been with the company for eleven years, worked his way up from the bottom. Terence’s father, Jim, had spotted Harry’s potential and taken him from the shop floor to the office. He’d also cut Harry a ton of slack and let him work shorter hours with a minor dip in wages when Charlotte had died. But a heart attack had snatched Jim from the business he’d built and his bone idle, idiot son had inherited his mantle. And there he sat now, reveling in his stupidity, a grey office dictator desperate to make his mark.

“Right,” Harry unclenched his fists, but not before Terence’s gaze had passed over them. “I understand.”

“Good.” Terence’s smile was as real as the flowers decorating his shelves. The only time he genuinely smiled was when he made jokes at other people’s expense, and then his eyes lit up like a fun fair. “Good,” he said again and nodded like a wise old man. “You should get back to work. Okay?”

“Sure.” Harry returned to his desk with Terence’s basilisk stare following him every step of the way. He picked up his cold tea, swallowed the dregs, and opened his inbox, which had proliferated like an aggressive disease.

* * *

It was gone seven by the time Harry drove home and the town was dark and almost empty. Only a few people passed by the light of the shop windows, their heads down as the wind shook their hoods and umbrellas, and sent glittering rain drops falling from the bare branches. The elongated glow of a passing bus drew by and a solitary passenger turned toward Harry, their eyes pools of darkness.

It was that haunted time of year; the dead season as his mother had called it. Where had the sunshine gone? It seemed the last time he’d seen it had been the spring when there’d been daffodils in the hospital grounds as he’d visited Charlotte. Life pushing through the cold earth, as if in mockery of the cancer consuming his beautiful wife. He’d picked a flower for her, but by the time he’d reached the ward, she was gone and the woman in her bed had looked like an empty, haggard stranger. He could still see the gleam of sweat cooling on her head, and the waxy tone of her skin below the strip lights. Still hear Abby’s sobs when she’d realized it was too late to say goodbye.

Harry had found the daffodil he’d picked that day in his coat pocket. It had been shriveled and dead and he’d left it there, unsure what to do with it. Throwing it away had felt callous, even though he’d already summoned the strength to pile up Charlotte’s clothes and donate them.

He turned into the short street where Kaitlyn lived. A train rattled past, vivid blue sparks glowing from its squealing wheels. The carriages rolled by, as empty as everything else.

Harry pulled up and climbed out into the chilly, misty air. He thrust his hands into his pockets and started down the street, but paused as movement in the car parked ahead drew his attention.

A cigarette tip blazed, giving Harry a glimpse of a gaunt, youthful face framed by a dark hoody. The kid couldn’t have been much older than eighteen, but his drawn features looked almost ancient. He turned to Harry and stared him down.

“Twat,” Harry muttered, and was about to walk on when the teenager glanced up at Kaitlyn’s house and slowly and lewdly licked his lips. “What?” Harry asked, his voice cracking with anger. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He strode toward the car but it rumbled to life and before he could close the distance, it pulled away with a staccato boom of bass.

As Harry watched it go his gaze fell on the tattered sticker on the bumper, which showed a weird branch-like symbol and twisty words that spelled: ‘Daemonium Soul’.

“Dad?”

Harry turned to find Abby watching from Kaitlyn’s doorstep. Kaitlyn stood behind her. She raised a hand tucked into a sweater sleeve, and waved. She was the same age as Abby but her choice of clothes and make-up made her look at least two years older. Harry glanced away from her short skirt, hoping, as he always did, that Abby wouldn’t follow her friend’s example.

Abby said something, and Kaitlyn bit her lip before whispering a reply.

Something had happened. Was it connected with the prick in the car?

“Night’, Mr. Ryder, night’ Abby,” Kaitlyn called. As she closed her door the light from her hallway vanished, and it felt as if the temperature in the street had dipped even lower.

“Everything okay?” Harry asked, guiding Abby to the car. His gaze lingered on the patch of black oil where Daemonium Soul had parked, and he considered mentioning it, but decided against it for the time being.

“Sure. You?” Abby snatched a glance at Harry as he opened the door for her.

“Of course.”

They drove home in silence, Abby fiddling with her phone, Harry’s concerns circling him like carrion crows.

Maybe it was Abby’s imagination, but the clock hand appeared to be moving faster than usual. She sat back in her seat as the rest of her class gave the illusion of listening, even though it was clear no-one was paying the English supply teacher the slightest attention. They stared through the windows, stole furtive glances at the phones clenched below their desks, and suppressed yawns.

Kaitlyn shot Abby another worried look while Josh sat behind her as studiously arrogant as ever. He tipped his chair back, his wild dyed black hair like an ink splatter against the magnolia wall, and then his shark eyes roved the room and settled on Abby. Was he pissed off? Did he hate her? It seemed that way most the time.

“… and you must finish it by Tuesday at the latest. And that goes for everyone, including you, Miss Ryder.” Mrs. Parcell gave Abby a curt glance as she stopped before her desk. Abby nodded and continued pretending to make notes in her school book. Finally, the break alarm buzzed.

Desk and chair legs scraped and a flurry of black blazers headed for the exit. Abby followed Kaitlyn into the throng and moved aside as Josh pushed past. He gave her a slight nod as he barged through the crowd, heading downstairs, the bitter stench of nicotine clinging to his clothes like a trail of acrid bread crumbs for them to follow.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Kaitlyn pulled her coat tight across her chest as they crossed the sports field toward the janitor’s huts. A thin band of blue-grey smoke billowed from the side of the squat wooden buildings.

“Yeah.” Abby forced nonchalance. “You?”

“Of course.” Kaitlyn sounded insulted that Abby had even questioned her commitment. It had all started with her, and her fixation with Josh Hills. Abby could still picture the moment Kaitlyn had shown her the website on her phone, that black background, the white text flashing on the screen:

Ask a question…

She’d typed a stupid question first but Kaitlyn had shaken her head. “No. Type something important. That’s how it works.”

Abby had hesitated, before taking the phone and asking a question that no one, not even Kaitlyn, could have known the answer to. The reply had returned right away, and it had been correct, impossible though that was. The only person who could have answered Abby’s question correctly would have been her mother, and she was dead…

“What was that?” Josh demanded, bringing Abby back to the present as she rounded the hut with Kaitlyn. He sat perched on a trash can, his chunky black shoes thudding into the dented tin with the same irritated precision of an angry cat flicking its tail. He threw the stub of his cigarette down, spat twice, and sparked another.

“What?” Abby shrugged.

“Why didn’t you answer him the other night?” Josh’s glare grew in intensity.

“I fell asleep,” Abby said. “Sorry.”

“I told you you had to be ready. When you didn’t reply right away he messaged me. Gave me a ton of shit for it. I vouched for you, you dumb bitch.”

“I’m sorry,” Abby said, “I-”

“This isn’t a game,” Josh continued. “You’re either in or you’re out.” His voice was as much a weapon as his fists, but Abby heard the undercurrent of fear. He was as scared as she was.

“You’ve got one more chance,” Josh said. “He’s called for a gathering. Tonight.”

“What for?” Kaitlyn asked.

Josh shot her an almost dismissive look. “So he can run tests to make sure you’re worthy. And if you are, you get to ask for whatever you want.”

Abby wondered what Josh wanted, beyond status. It looked like he’d already come into money. The labels on his clothes had changed over the last few weeks, meaning he’d somehow gotten hold of cash for once in his life, and plenty of it.

“What kind of tests?” Kaitlyn shivered as the cold breeze swept Josh’s smoke away.

“Nothing serious.” Josh spat again. “Just questions and answers. If you get them right, then you go to the next level. It’s as simple as that.”

Accepted. Inside the circle, rather than outside it. It felt as if Abby’s whole life had been spent being locked out, and she sensed it was the same for Josh. They were both outsiders. Kaitlyn on the other hand… Abby loved her friend, but she’d never had to struggle with anything. Never lost someone she loved. “Where?” Abby asked.

“I don’t know.” Josh blew a smoke ring at Kaitlyn. “What about your place?”

“I guess,” Kaitlyn said. “My parents are out ’til nine.”

“It’s settled then.” Josh jumped from the bin. “I’ll let the others know.” He strode away, before stopping and turning back to Abby. “You better be there.”

“I will be,” Abby said, even though she had no idea why it mattered if she was there or not.

She called her dad and asked if she could stay at Kaitlyn’s for dinner. He sounded relieved, meaning he’d probably been told to work overtime again. Abby hated his job almost as much as he did, as well as his twat of a boss. She’d never met Terence, but she’d heard plenty about him over the last few months, as if they’d needed any more things to make life miserable. She wished they could move somewhere else, somewhere smaller so he wouldn’t have to work so hard, but he couldn’t let the house go, or the memories it held.

“Abby!”

Abby ran to catch Kaitlyn up as dark blue clouds rose over the school, turning the last of the leaves on the auburn trees as bright as flames. The sky seemed like an omen, and for a moment Abby considered cancelling the meeting. It felt like she was taking a bad path, and that if she continued following it, there’d be no coming back.

“Hurry up!” Kaitlyn called.

Abby ran harder.

* * *

Harry skimmed the news as he ate his limp ham sandwich and finished his bitter coffee. Thanks to a meeting he’d managed to escape, the office was empty. He scoured the headlines. More bombings. More political scandals. More missing children.

“That work related?”

Harry closed the browser. How the hell had Terence appeared so quietly?

“Nope, I’m taking a lunch break.”

“Right.” Terence checked his wristwatch, making note of the time. “Good,” he said, before muttering something as he returned to his office. Harry swallowed his anger, threw the remains of his sandwich into the bin, and got back to work. And as he lost himself in the deluge of spreadsheets and calls, the strange sense of discomfort nagging at the edge of his thoughts grew more pronounced.

* * *

Abby had almost forgotten they were having a meeting as she sat back with Kaitlyn on her parent’s sofa, the TV blaring before them. But then the doorbell rang, and somehow it sounded heavier, and slower than usual. Abby glanced up as Kaitlyn ushered Josh into the room, followed by three kids she’d seen around school, but didn’t know. The two snobby-looking girls were from the year above hers, and the boy with the jagged fringe and quick, suspicious glances was in her year, but she’d never spoken to him.

“We need space.” Josh didn’t wait for Abby to move as he wheeled the sofa she sat on out of the way. The others joined him in helping to rearrange the furniture.

Abby felt nauseous as she moved an armchair. She considered making excuses and leaving, but it was too late. She’d committed. It was happening.

Josh studied her closely. “Everything okay, Abby?” He asked with mock concern. “You’re not going to freak out and go all spastic on us, are you?”

Abby held his gaze and bit back her first response. “Course not.” She glanced to where her coat was slung over the back of the dining room chair and fought the urge to pull it on and run as far from the madness as possible.

“Good,” Josh said. “Kill the lights,” he told Kaitlyn. “It’s better in the dark.”

_________________________________________________________________________________

Click here to order Dead Season

The post An Exclusive preview of Dead Season appeared first on Kit Hallows.

It’s been quite a while since I’ve shared any updates, so I thought it’s high time to fix that. I’ve spent most the last few cloistered weeks writing, or editing to be more precise. I’m currently working on a horror/supernatural thriller and I have a title, a cover in mind, and I can’t wait to share it with you.

Something wicked this way comes…

I’m also planning tales in the world of The Order of Shadows. They won’t feature Morgan Rook as the main character, but his shadow falls over them and he might even make an appearance or two… I’m still in the early stages of plotting but what I can tell you is Argyle Screed, shady dealer in strange and unusual items, will be at the heart of the stories like a spider in a web.

I’m hoping to publish these stories soon. I’m mindful it’s been a long time since I’ve had anything new to share, so I’m considering releasing the tales as a series of interlinked novellas. I hope that’s something you’ll enjoy, I’m finding shorter books and stories easier to read in these turbulent times. More to follow on this, and for now, I need to get back to the horror. The horror…

Cheers!

Kit

The post Something Wicked This Way Comes appeared first on Kit Hallows.

I’m very excited to announce that both Ender of Worlds and The Shadow Rises are now available on Audible.

Both audiobooks have been narrated by Shawn Compton once again. To my mind Shawn’s become the voice of Morgan Rook. It was very surreal hearing the stories for the first time and I hope you enjoy listening to them as much as I did. Ender of Worlds is a fast paced supernatural thriller, and The Shadow Rises is a brooding epic ending to the series.

Click below for samples and you can also download Ender of Worlds here, and The Shadow Rises here.

The post Ender of Worlds and The Shadow Rises on Audible! appeared first on Kit Hallows.

I’m very pleased to announce that the first book in my new series, Myth Bane is now published and available on Amazon. You can get it by clicking here!

I really enjoyed writing this novel and I’m sure it shows. And while it’s definitely a different beast from The Order of Shadows series, and the dark path of Morgan Rook, the story bears more than a few hallmarks of those novels; dark fantasy, magic, occult horror, mythical creatures, other worlds.

So if you enjoyed Dark City, there’s a high likeliehood you’re going to love The Waking Legends!

Here’s the blurb and you can also read a sample of the book below.

Waking legends. Ancient magic. A myth in the making.

Something ancient is stirring in England, something lost, something cursed. Something that’s beginning to remember what it is. The Myth Bane.

Will Rose is haunted by dreams. Haunted by a forest that cannot be. Haunted by the sudden mysterious death of his father, and a foe both brutal and cunning.

When Will is forced to flee London for the strange, secretive Yorkshire village of Middlewytch Crake he believes he’s escaped the merciless entity pursuing him.

But soon he finds himself on the frontline, plunged into a shadowy world where mythical creatures from dark, ancient faery tales roam free.

Can Will wrestle back his own demons in time to thwart the one sent to slay him? Can he vanquish the Myth Bane before it finds its throne and seals the fate of two worlds?

The post Myth Bane – Part one of The Waking Legends Series appeared first on Kit Hallows.

It’s almost here; Myth Bane the first book in my new ‘Waking Legends’ series! I’m really excited, and hope you will have as much fun with the adventure as I did conjuring up this new dark fantasy world.

Read on below for the first four chapters, and I’ll be posting more to my blog and social media the moment the book is published!

William Rose hadn’t died. That dark, momentous event was due in two days, but he felt dead. Like he’d passed from the earth and was little more than a cluster of particles hanging in the air.

A part of him was aware he was asleep in an apartment building in London. But as the scenery shifted from an overturned pub, with the bar, beers and his friends suspended from the ceiling, to a midnight blue cloud of swirling vapors, he knew he was on his way to somewhere else. A place far from a dream.

Terror punched through his gut as his surroundings darkened and his body solidified around him, like it had leaped from his bed and followed him into this impossible place. “No!” he shouted, “stop!”

Slowly, the velvet darkness bloomed with dusky reds and emerald greens and Will found himself standing in a forest. A real life, knock on wood forest with giant, towering trees.

The lush canopy of the leafy branches held the rich twilit splendor aloft while they cast their shadows upon the mossy dappled earth. Their trunks were high and round, the bark gnarled and ancient. Wreaths of mist hung in the cool, fresh air like ghostly shrouds and the earthy aroma was vivid, pungent and real.

It wasn’t real of course, and yet it was there, right before him. And not for the first time. He shivered, and fought to quell his rising panic. There would be a way out. There had to be a way out.

Will stumbled on, the drifts of russet leaves crackling beneath his feet as he wandered along a trail dogged by grasping brambles that snagged his hands, bringing a distinctly un-dreamlike throb of pain. “It’s not real,” he said as he glanced back, half hoping to find a door to return him to his dreams, but if there’d ever been one, it was gone.

He rubbed the side of his pounding temples as the hangover that had thundered in the background like a silent storm as he’d slept, held him in its grip. His throat was as dry as bone and his twenty-five-year-old body suddenly felt older than time. Each joint was as stiff as the fallen tree before him with its unearthed roots hanging down like tendrils.

“Hello?” he called. No one answered. As he glanced through the forest he realized he’d been there before, but the memory flickered like quicksilver and vanished from his mind.

As Will spotted the large stone building nestled amongst the brambles he slowed. Its sloped roof was green and brown with moss, its leaded glass windows obscured by dust. Its heavy wooden door was ajar, and vivid silver beams of light blazed within. The place was a mystery his curiosity yearned to explore, but his instincts warned him to avoid.

I need to go back, he thought, and closed his eyes. He willed himself to wake in London, back to the bed where Charlotte lay beside him, her soft arms entwined through his, her breasts…

“You’re here. Finally.”

Will opened his eyes to find a figure flitting out from the house. She was a sinewy woman with a long, angular face and with each indignant step, the frayed blue and mauve patchwork squares of her skirt seemed to shift and jumble. Then her piercing eyes glowed lilac as they fixed on his.

“I need to get out here,” Will said. He nodded back the way he’d came. He’d had more than enough of the eerie looming trees, the overpowering scent of damp earth, and the strange metallic jingling tone that made him think of pockets full of old coins. It was impossible, all of it, yet it tainted the very breeze ruffling his dark unruly hair, making it even more vivid. Had someone spiked his drink? It was possible. Except…

“Wait,” the woman called as she hurried to catch up to him.

“I’m sorry,” Will called, “but I have to get back. This place is impossible. I can’t be here.”

“How can you go back if you’re not here?”

Will shrugged and was about to stumble away, to where he had no idea, when a thin, silver light that fizzled like a beam of electricity shot from the house. It pierced the woman’s chest like a javelin, and struck Will, bringing a flash of warmth to his heart and whispers in his ears, the words nonsensical. “What the hell’s going on?” He turned to follow the zig zagging line blazing through the trees but it vanished into the distant impenetrable gloom.

“Faete!” the woman called, “and you’re as likely to take wing as you are to escape yours. Just as I can’t escape mine. But,” she held up a long, crooked finger, “we might change it still.”

“Faete? I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” Will closed his eyes, his mind set. When I open my eyes, I’ll be where I belong, and I’ll forget this ever happened.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. He hid you from us well, hid you from everyone, but the veil has been lifted. We’re in the gravest danger. You, me, everything.”

“This is insane. It’s not real. It can’t be.” Will opened his eyes, hoping to find himself back in bed, but he was still in the forest.

“Is that so?” the woman asked. “Then tell me, why can you feel the soft springy moss beneath your feet and smell the damp leaves and blackberries like you’ve never smelled them before. You know you’re here. You know you’re a part of this place and always have been, even if you continue to deny it.”

“I don’t know anything. And like I said, I have to go. Take care.” Will closed his eyes again and this time he doubled his focus as he imagined Charlotte, warm beside him and her…

…and then he was gone.

“Idiot. Sodden, willfully stupid fool! He’s as slow as dead eels and as stubborn as a bloody thorn.” She waved her hand and the silver beam that had connected her to Will and the heart of the forest began to fade.

“You can hide it all you like, but they’ll know you meddled with the faetes, Morwen,” a slow, cautious voice said, as a stoat stepped from the gloom between the trees and joined her. It regarded her with its deep black eyes, shook its furry coat out and sniffed the air, its black tipped tail swishing the leaves.

“So be it, Asral,” Morwen said. “Because either way the forest’s waking and things are about to change, and not for the better. That boy’s got serious trouble coming to him, and it’s going to shake his little boat from its stream and set it upon a stormy sea. Whether he wants it or not.”

“He’s not exactly a boy.”

“Five and twenty years should certainly make him a man, but he’s been cosseted and hidden away like a child. No, he should have listened to me. Does he want to die? Where will he be then?”

“Dead?”

“True,” Morwen conceded. “And then where will we be?”

“Also dead?”

“Indeed.” She frowned as she gazed into the trees. The forest was stirring, albeit slowly, but it was waking. She watched the bats flitting over the House of Faete, a bad omen as if they needed one.

“Maybe it’s time to wake the Court,” Asral suggested.

“No.” Morwen shook her head. “That would break the accord. If we wake the Court, the other side will wake as well. And then we’ll have them as well as the humans to deal with. It’ll be a massacre. Far worse than the last.”

“So what can we do?”

“Hope the imbecile wakes up,” Morwen glanced back to where Will had stood mere moments ago. “He has the strength we need. If he can find it.”

“You said he’s going to die the day after tomorrow. I’d say the matter’s already decided.”

“It is. But I may have attempted to intervene.” The side of Morwen’s face colored.

“When?” Asral gave her a doubtful look.

“About a hundred years ago, give or take.” She was about to add more when a howl echoed from the darkness and as she gazed toward it she caught sight of a scrawny figure slipping behind the trunk of an old crooked tree. “Not good,” she said, keeping her voice low, “not good at all.”

Together they hurried along the narrow, twisted path leading back to the House of Faete. “Wake up, Will,” Morwen whispered, her heart racing. “Wake the bloody hell up!”

“Wake up!”

Gingerly, Will forced his eyes open, expecting to find himself in the forest, but he wasn’t; he was crammed in a broom cupboard, clutching a tin bucket that reeked of vomit. His head pounded as he sat up, and his stomach churned like it was full of curdled milk.

Charlotte stood over him, her pretty face twisted with disgust as strands of her long black hair dangled over him like strips of seaweed.

“What happened?” His ragged voice muttered through his cracked, dry throat.

Thunk! A backpack landed between his splayed legs. “What’s this?” Will asked, as he gazed down at it.

“Your things.”

“Why?”

“Because I already have a child, and I don’t have room for another. I don’t know how or why you did it, Will, but-”

“Did what?”

She glanced down the narrow hall toward the other apartments and dropped her voice to an exasperated whisper. “Snuck out of bed last night so you could sleep in this cupboard. Somehow that must have been really important to you.” She shook her head. “What’s the joke, Will?”

“I didn’t-”

“You did. And you’ve done it before, remember? And not only were all the windows locked when I got up but so was the front door. And it was bolted too. I don’t know how you managed it, and frankly I don’t want to either. It’s too much.”

Will was lost for words. She was right, it had happened before. And on more than a few occasions, except he’d never told her that, and wasn’t about to. Not for the first time, he wondered if he was going insane, that some dark part of his mind was playing tricks on him and sabotaging his life.

“I can’t have it,” Charlotte continued, “I’ve already got one crazy ex, and now you’re the second. What the hell was I thinking?”

“No. We’re good together,” Will sat up, his head spinning. “Last night was a laugh. It was fun.”

“It was fun, until you started on the absinthe. Do you remember that?”

“No.” If he’d had absinthe, Danny must have foisted it on him like he usually did, and that never amounted to anything good.

“Do you remember the cab ride home?” Charlotte asked, her voice laced with fury.

“Did I do something stupid?” Will tried to remember what had happened, but everything came up blank. He didn’t drink much, and never that often, but when he did things often got pretty strange…

…. a vision of trees filled his mind. Had they gone to a park?

“Try, beyond stupid. Do you actually want to know?” Charlotte’s eyes flashed dangerously.

“Not really.” As Will shook his head he winced as tiny explosions roared inside his skull.

Charlotte glanced down at her buzzing phone. When she looked back at him, her face softened. A little. “Look, Will, I like you. You’re a good man, you’ve got a good heart…”

“But?”

“But it’s too weird, all of it. I can’t have you doing disappearing acts in the house, especially not when Riley’s around. He needs someone responsible in his life, and that’s about the last thing you are.”

“I’m responsible,” Will said as he stumbled to his feet and the bucket clattered across the floor. “Let me-”

“It’s too late.” She folded her arms. “You should go to your father’s house. I know it’s hard but you need to face up to it. And you need to get a job.”

“I’ve been trying to get a job in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I know. And you’ll find one, you’re smart, resourceful. But you need to deal with your grief. Stop running away from everything, Will.”

“I’ll deal with it, I’m going to-”

“No.” Charlotte placed her fingers on his lips. “It’s over. You need to go.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Take care, Will.”

As she turned and walked back to her apartment, Will caught sight of Riley. His hair was wild and his hands and mouth were smeared with jam. He smiled at Will but before Will could return the gesture, Charlotte pulled him back inside and the door slammed shut.

The late summer sun blazed down on London from a bright blue sky reminding Will of one of Riley’s drawings as he headed down the road, his earthly possessions slung over his shoulder. He glanced back at the apartment block and caught a glimpse of Charlotte looking down at him, which seemed apt. Then she vanished.

Everything felt weird and unreal. Unlikely even; as if he was about to wake and find it had all been some terrible dream. They’d only been together for seven months, and he’d only been living with her for a few weeks, but it seemed longer. Much longer. In a good way.

At first the idea of moving in had scared the hell out of him. It had felt like a commitment too far, especially when it included her noisy, wild, yet lovable son. But he’d grown to like it, to love it even.

“Not a problem now though,” he muttered as he crossed the street. Of course he could try to mount an appeal, plea for a second chance, but there had been a terrible finality in her eyes, and he’d seen that look before.

Discordant thoughts zipped through his mind; Charlotte, the black hole that was the night before, and something else… a nebulous concern that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something else had happened. He’d gone somewhere… again. But where?

Will jumped as a car horn blared.

“Wake up, moron!” a driver yelled from his van.

Will lifted his finger in response but the van had already screeched away. “Whatever,” Will said as he concentrated on putting one scuffed shoe ahead of the other, unaware of the figure following on the shadowed side of the street.

Will stretched back on the park bench in Golden Square as a squealing toddler ran past, chasing a limping crow across the grass. As entertainment went, it was pretty low grade.

What he should have been doing, instead of lounging in Soho, was sitting in a coffee shop with his friend Natalie, who had a lead on a job for him. But she’d cancelled at the last minute, leaving him adrift in London with nothing else to do.

Another roadblock, Will thought as he finished off his exorbitantly priced roast beef sandwich and wondered how many more he’d be able to buy before his bank balance hit zero. Maybe a few hundred, he calculated, if he was lucky. And what then? He glanced over at the painfully young couple laying in each other’s arms on the bench beside him. They were gaunt and wasted, and the piles of bags below them were stuffed with clothes and even more bags. A glimpse of the future?

And then, as the kid chased the crow by again the bird flew up and made a low pass over Will, shitting on the shoulder of his shirt as it swooped by.

“Really?” Will growled, as he sloshed his pricy mineral water over a napkin and tried to scrub it off. Could things get any worse? Yes. He put the thought from his mind in case it tempted fate…

… a memory flashed by; a snapshot of a woman emerging from an ancient house with a mossy roof and an interior bright with vivid silver lights. He shook his head. It was nonsense; the byproduct of drunken dreams.

Will stared down at his scuffed shoes and wondered what to do next. He had friends, they had sofas…

No. It was too much, especially given he had another option. One he could be at within the hour. He could wash his clothes, run a bath, get a takeaway and some sleep and do his best to mend his frayed nerves.

Except it meant venturing to the one place he’d been avoiding for longer than he cared to admit. A cloud passed over the sun. It seemed fitting. Will leaned back against the bench and closed his eyes for a few moments more.

He woke to a blare of trumpets and assorted brass and opened his eyes to find a Salvation Army band performing in the twilit square. The young girl collecting money pulled her cap back as she passed him, and Will wasn’t sure if the gesture was through pity or fear.

He glanced at his phone. It was later than he’d intended and the nap had done little to help his still raging hangover. “Wow!” he muttered as he checked his pockets to find his wallet and phone were still where they were supposed to be, as was his bag. Then he noticed someone had kindly left a small pile of change on the bench beside him. He left it, hoisted the bag onto his shoulder, and headed to the tube station.

#

The train juddered and squealed as it rounded a bend and bright blue sparks flashed in the sooty gloom outside the window as Will sat, hunched over. As it pulled into the next stop, the remaining passengers drifted from the carriage, except for the strange, ancient looking lady sitting across the way. The one who had seemed to have been staring at him since he’d first gotten into the carriage.

She was a haggard thing. Bony, crooked, and almost swallowed up by the long winter coat she wore, despite the late summer’s heat. Her hair was silver and white, her brows painted lines, and her eyes almost shone in the flickering lights. She stared at Will before nodding to the paper bag cradled in her lap. It had a hole on one side that had been mended with tape. Will almost shuddered as he studied the bag and realized it was filled with tiny white teeth.

“Penny for your thoughts?” the old lady said.

“I’m… you know.” He smiled and looked away.

“A bit shaken since you met my sister? Ran away you did, or so she said.“

”I…”

“Are you waking up?”

Will gave a short, tight smile, pulled his phone from his pocket and wielded it as a barrier against her lunatic conversation while he thumbed through his messages and pretended to read them. Then, with a flick of his finger, he was face to face with the selfie Charlotte had taken with him in the pub the night before and his heart sunk.

“Out with the old, in with the new,” the lady muttered.

A trickle of anxiety slithered through him and as the train pulled into a station, he hurried through the door and leaped onto the next carriage.

He glanced through the window in the connecting door to make sure the old lady was still there. She was. She sat staring ahead, chatting as if he was still in front of her.

Another lost soul, Will thought, as if the city needed any more. He counted the stops on the tube map, glad to find there were only three to go before his destination.

His panic continued to bubble like a hidden spring but he forced himself to ignore it. Instead he thought about his father’s house and wondered, yet again, if the solicitor handling his father’s estate would return his calls any time soon. It was hard to imagine the legal log jam ever getting settled, and even if it did he had no idea what he’d do with the place. Selling seemed like the best idea, but as he thought about the odd things that had happened there over the years and the unnerving vibe the place seemed to harbor within its walls, he doubted it would be possible to find anyone insane enough to actually pay money for it.

And then there was Sally. Was she still living there? Will hoped so. He’d liked her, and was glad his father had met her, and it pained him that their loving relationship had been severed with such horribly efficient finality. He’d tried to call Sally several times to work out an arrangement with the house as well as all the other things that needed to get done, but she’d been just as evasive as the solicitor.

A blur of movement broke Will’s thoughts. The old lady stood at the glass door of the adjoining carriage, mouthing something. Whatever it was, it seemed by her urgent expression that it was incredibly important.

Sparks lit the tunnel and the overhead light flickered, and for a moment it looked as if the eyes in her drawn, withered face had shimmered with a lilac glow.

Will walked to the far end of the car, pulled his book from his backpack and tried to read but the words seemed to dance across the page. When he glanced up, he found the middle-aged couple across the way watching in what looked like concerned sympathy.

“It’s fine.” Will forced a smile and continued to stare at the book, doing his best to ignore the distant silhouette of the old lady pressed against the window.

Finally, the train ground to a halt and he left the underground, eager to be back below the open sky.

#

The long street where he’d spent most of his childhood felt older and narrower, as if it had shrunk since he’d last been there. Somehow it seemed much later than it was, as if the hours on this tiny block had skipped ahead so the whole neighborhood could linger at midnight.

Will started as a cat yowled and followed him, matching his step as it ran along a rickety wooden fence. He turned to stroke it but the cat drew away. It looked diseased with its weepy eyes, and limp, withered tail. He sighed. The poor thing was probably… “Hey!” he snatched his hand back as it hissed and spat at him.

He hurried on, mindful of the thick, cloying shadows writhing across the pavement. Most of the curtains in the houses were drawn, but now and then he passed a brightly lit window with people nestled cozily inside, a sharp contrast to the disquieting darkness.

Will glanced his father’s place over before shoving the wooden gate onto the scraped worn path. The shrubs lining the walkway hadn’t been cut back, resulting in a narrow corridor riddled with spider webs. Their silvery strands glinted in the moonlight, bringing half elusive memories that he quickly forced from his mind…

He looked up at the house once more. It was bathed in darkness and seemed to loom, reminding him of coming home from school as a child on short winter days. Of how he’d throw the door open and switched on as many lights as possible, anything to keep the nagging gloom at bay.

The key was barely in the lock when a strange, shifting sensation rose from the doormat, as if it were about to sail up into the sky and carry him away. And then its edges glowed with faint golden light before fading back to its old worn ragged self.

“I need sleep,” Will muttered as he shook his head, opened the door and stepped into the waiting darkness.

His fingers brushed along the cold, embossed wallpaper in the hallway as he searched for the light switch. The tunnel of darkness ahead seemed to undulate toward him.

Will grabbed his phone, thumbed the screen and found the switch in its faint glow. It was there, just where it had always been. He flipped it on and stepped inside.

The old painting was still beside the door, even after all these years. It was filled with odd, colorful, geometric designs and tiny, jagged symbols. As a child he’d been convinced the shapes were spells written in a long forgotten, magical language. That they could protect him and the house against monsters who might come calling.

Will placed a hand on its dusty frame and glanced up the stairs to the darkness of the second floor. He took a long deep breath. The house smelled of damp. It smelled empty.

Eric was still where he’d always been, perched up high along the wall. He was a strange, sinister thing and Will had always found taxidermy disturbing, as well as owls, which made Eric a double whammy. His red-orange eyes were shiny and judgmental, and the ratty grey and brown feathers on his wings were ruffled in a far too lifelike way.

“Evening, Eric,” Will said, nodding to the dust-addled bird as he slipped past the darkened living room and cellar door.

He flipped the kitchen light on and gazed at the stout wooden table in the middle of the room. It looked so small now, everything looked so small. His heart beat a little harder as he spotted the folded note. Was it from his father? A final message? He snatched it open, relieved to find Sally’s cursive writing tucked inside.

Dear Will,

I hope things are well when you receive this. I tried calling but couldn’t get through and I have no idea where to find you. I’ve tried several places but you move about so often!

Anyway, this is just a brief note to let you know I’ve decided to move out and move on. This house holds too many memories. I miss your father as I’m certain you do.

Please feel free to reach me at the number and address below. It would be great to meet up when you have time!

Blessed be,

Sally x

Will added her number into his phone and glanced at her address. It wasn’t far. He’d ring her tomorrow and looked forward to catching up with her. She was pretty much the last link he had to his father now.

He opened the fridge in the vague hope of finding something to eat, but it was empty and had been thoroughly cleaned. The cupboard held a few tins of peas, faded packets of pasta and an old can of processed meat that looked like it had been sitting there for a century.

Will’s gaze drifted to the bottle of wine almost cheerfully sitting near the windowsill. “A hair of the dog it is then.” He opened the bottle, poured a glass and wandered back down the hall to the living room, passing the cellar door once more, another throwback to his old childhood fears. He shoved it hard, making sure it was closed.

As he entered the living room, he paused as he caught sight of a figure striding toward him. “What the-”

Will switched the light on and stepped back in a defensive stance, the bottle of wine tucked beneath his arm.

A tall mirror stood before him, one he’d never seen before, and standing sheepishly within the frame was himself. “Twat!” he muttered, before taking a liberal sip of wine.

He looked tired. There were lines on his forehead and shadows around his eyes. His leather jacket was battered and his filthy shirt was beyond wrinkled. “You’re still a handsome devil though,” he said, and winked at himself to lighten the atmosphere.

Will plopped down in his father’s armchair, decided it was too weird, and moved to the sofa. He flicked the television on to battle the silence and soon the place was filled with inane, chuckling laughter. Next, he ordered cod and chips from the shop down the road, set his phone down, then picked it back up. His finger hovered habitually over Charlotte’s number.

Was it too soon? He tossed the phone down. Not only was it too soon, it was too late. He wasn’t going to delude himself, and the last thing he wanted was to turn into some needy pain in the arse. She knew how to find him if she changed her mind, not that he expected that to happen.

Will sighed, exhaling the day as he leaned back on the cushions and closed his tired, aching eyes.

He awoke to the jarring ring of the phone and reached out. But it wasn’t his cell phone, it was an analogue phone. An old, analogue phone.

Will gripped the edge of the sofa as he realized exactly where it was coming from but before he could move, the phone stopped and the door bell rang.

The food…

Will paid the delivery guy and made his way to the kitchen but paused.

The cellar door was ajar.

“Must have been open already.” Will closed it with his foot. The effects of the wine and his growling stomach helped him overlook the fact that he’d checked before and it hadn’t yielded an inch.

As he ate his food a series of troubling thoughts surfaced in his mind. And before he could stop them, they flitted back to a long buried memory.

There’d been nothing particularly extraordinary about that distant cloudy autumn morning, not initially, except for his father’s mood.

Usually, his dad was affable and easy going, funny even, when he chose to be. But not that day. No, that day his father’s dark eyes had barely met Will’s, his forehead had been creased with lines, and his face peppered with stubble.

Something had gone wrong. Something had happened. Something serious that had made his dad serious too.

Will had asked him about it with a ten-year-old’s casual directness.

“Follow me,” Dylan Rose had said with gruff haste. He’d led Will to the cellar door, produced a ring of keys from his dressing gown, unlocked it and led Will down the creaky steps. Will had been down there once before, long ago, and he’d promptly decided it wasn’t a place he liked very much. It was full of strange things; tiny statues, odd bundles of twigs, their wood shorn of bark, old wooden crates partially draped in black cloth that had made him think of a vampire’s cloak.

In the furthest corner, past the dusty furnace, was a carved, wooden stand and resting upon it an old-fashioned telephone. Will had never seen it before and he’d never once heard it ring. Carefully, Dylan Rose turned the phone over to reveal a strip of paper taped to its base. On the paper was a long string of numbers, the beginning few in brackets. “What’s that?” Will had asked.

His father had leaned down, looked him in the eyes, and placed a gentle, yet firm hand on Will’s shoulder. “If you ever have a problem, Will, I want you to dial this number, and use this phone. Got it?”

“Sure,” Will had replied. “Is that how I ring the police station?”

“No. I’m not talking about those sorts of problems.” His father’s brow had furrowed as it always did when he struggled to explain something complex. “I mean if something very strange happens, and I’m not around.”

“Strange like what?”

“You’ll know, Will. But listen, I’m not going to let anything bad happen. Me and you are off the map, and as long as I’m drawing breath, we’ll stay that way.”

Will had been troubled at the thought of being off a map, because what lay beyond maps? Oceans filled with sea monsters? Dragons? But more troubling than that was the idea of a day when his father wouldn’t be there, so he pushed the thought to the bottom of the pile, just like he did with his least favorite books, before it could become a worry.

It was two years later when Will had woken to the sound of the phone ringing. His dad had gone to the store, so Will fished the key to the cellar out of the drawer where his father kept it, and clambered down the stairs, one hand guiding him on the pitted, mottled wall. The phone had sat there silent, as if it had only rung in his dream.

His curiosity had whispered to him, and within moments he’d given in. He’d flipped the phone over, written the number down on a scrap of paper, then called it. The line had been scratchy and echoey, like a precipice within a great dark, cavern.

Then someone answered. A woman. She’d sounded worried. Angry even. “Is that you Dylan?” she’d demanded. “Hello?” The line had fizzled and popped with static as she’d paused. “Who’s there?”

Will had slammed the phone down and flown up the cellar stairs, and he’d never gone back, not even once.

The memory was still unsettling enough to prompt Will to refill his wine glass and take a deep swig. “It was nothing.”

But it hadn’t been nothing. He glanced toward the cellar door. Was the old phone still there?

“Screw it.” Will strode to the door. He didn’t like feeling afraid. Didn’t want to feel like a child again. He reached out, yanked the door open, and stepped back. It creaked and swung out into the hallway. As he turned on the light, something thin, brown and long legged scuttled into a hole in the wall, making him jump. “Prick!” He chided himself.

He took the stairs fast, stomping down them with a confidence he didn’t feel as his shadow lurched down the wall beside him.

The cellar was as he remembered, nothing had changed, and the dusty old phone was still resting on the carved wooden stand. Before he could think twice, he snatched it up, turned it upside down, and read the number still taped to the bottom. He had no idea what area code it was, but he tapped it into his phone, anyway.

He set the phone back down with an almost superstitious reverence and made sure the handset remained in place. The bell inside the phone dinged as if in response and as he glanced at it, he spotted the stone resting by its side.

It was the green-grey pebble his father had given him as a child, an old stone ringed with rippled black lines and a worn hole in its center. The magic stone. How had he forgotten it? He picked it up. It felt lighter than he remembered, smaller, slighter. He slipped it into his pocket and left the cellar, eager to be back upstairs where he could examine it further in the warmth and light.

As Will flopped onto the couch he glanced at his cell phone and read the number from the cellar once more. He was about to dial it when he decided it was probably too late at night to disturb anyone. At least that’s what he told himself.

He set the phone down, took a sip from the glass of water he should have drunk hours ago, and clutched the old familiar stone as he closed his eyes.

It didn’t take long for the ghosts of the past to shift in the room and whisper to him in his sleep.

Robert Clayton raced along the dark London streets, pushing well past the speed limit as he wove in and out of the traffic. He shot by a police car and even though the almost obscenely young cop glanced his way, she made no move to pursue him.

Clayton grinned. He had no idea how his boss Mr. Green managed half the things he did, but his ability to blind the police to Clayton’s actions, temporarily at least, was easily his favorite trick. If only he’d met Green a few decades back…

His thoughts shifted as he pulled up to the traffic lights and realized where he was. He hadn’t been in this neck of the woods for at least twenty years. Sometime in the late eighties, back when he’d been king of the world.

The place had gone downhill; it was seedy and grubby, in need of a good scrub. It was different now. Everything was different. It had all changed since he’d been inside and sometimes it felt like he’d been released into a completely different world to the one he’d left behind. A different universe even. One thing was for sure, he hated it, but with the money Mr. Green was paying, he’d be out and away from the big shitty soon enough. Get a place by the seaside, do his best to drop off the radar. He had plans.

A throbbing boom of heavy bass rumbled the air, tearing him from his thoughts. Clayton glanced to the souped-up car drawing up beside him. Four teenage wannabe thugs looked his way, each of them trying to outdo the other for moody, threatening stares. They were at least forty years his junior; young, feral things, their drug-addled bodies twitching with whatever dodgy substances they’d taken. He had no idea what kids were into nowadays, but it definitely wasn’t the same stuff he’d used to hawk at their age, that was for sure. The drugs seemed mental now, pure damage.

Clayton turned away. He didn’t need the distraction, tempting though it was. Then the driver’s window slid down and he spat, his gob landing on Clayton’s windscreen. A whinny of nasal laugher punctuated the beats and booms.

“Fuck it,” Clayton mumbled as a shot of rage coursed through him and his older, baser instincts kicked in.

Their engine revved hard, obscuring the slick red chassis in angry blue smoke. Then a can of beer flew from the rear window and hit Clayton’s car with a solid thunk.

He lowered his window. “Gangsters, eh?” he asked, raising a thick, heavy eyebrow. He ran a hand through his thinning, slicked-back hair and checked himself in the mirror. Then he climbed out and strode to the car, his smile growing as he bore down on the driver, one hand bunched into a fist, the other buried in his long coat.

The driver’s face broke from granite to water and his friends melted from wannabe tough guys to the silly little boys they were. The driver locked the doors and began to accelerate.

“No, no, no! We’re not done yet, gents,” Clayton called out amid the screech of squealing tires. He stood in the wake of the car’s bitter fumes and shot his fingers at them, just as he could have shot the gun weighing down his pocket. “Wankers!” he shouted as he returned to his car, climbed in, and drove on.

If he’d had time to spare, he’d have chased them down, given them a brief, gory lesson in manners, but he didn’t. Not tonight. No, tonight he was all business, not pleasure, although there might be some fun by the end of it.

He sped on, the jazz playing through the speakers doing little to revive his good mood. He was way more tired than he wished he was. Older than he wished he was. Prior to the call, he’d had his night all planned out; a bottle of malt whiskey, old boxing matches on DVD, and then an early one. “Rock n’ roll!” he muttered. “Sad bastard.”

Clayton’s phone rang, cutting through his thoughts. He turned the music off and punched the button on the dashboard. “Yes, sir,” he said. Only one man had his number. It kept things simple.

“Are you close?” Mr. Green asked, his suave, well-spoken voice the opposite of Clayton’s deep, rough London drawl.

“About ten minutes away. Is he still there?”

“Yes, he’s still there. Make it fast, Clayton. No games. Call me when it’s done.”

Clayton nodded. “Sure thing, boss.”

The line clicked and he let out a long breath to steady his nerves. He’d worked for Mr. Green for at least a year, yet the man still put the fear of God in him. Or, fear of the devil, to be more accurate. Sometimes, he’d even considered Mr. Green was the actual, real life devil, but even if he was, he’d done more for Robert Clayton than anyone else in this miserable world. Saved his life, truth be told, because there was no way he’d have gotten through that extended sentence, not with the enemies he’d made while serving the last stretch in the joint.

No, they made a good team, even if they were strange bedfellows. And while Mr. Green was as scary as fuck, the man knew how to get things done, knew how to make problems disappear. Clayton did too, only his methods were less refined, very direct, and a lot more bloody.

The lights at the next intersection turned red. How many fucking lights did the city need?

Clayton gazed up at the apartment over the old antique store across the way. He was surprised to see the old shop and the flat above it were still around. He’d dated a woman who’d lived there once. What was her name? Marie… she’d been slight and pixie-like, with an insatiable craving for the wild side.

He doubted she was still going. She’d vacuumed most of his earnings up her nose and even back then, time had cast a shadow over her beautiful face, and shadows under her sad, sexy eyes.

It had been one hell of a lifestyle. They’d been like two ticking time bombs, waiting to go off and the only thing that had spared him the fate of a premature heart attack or stroke had been prison. Not that the thirty years he’d jilted the reaper out of could be considered salvation.

He daydreamed about pulling over, knocking on the old apartment door, and seeing if she’d made it through the years. He pictured her the way he’d almost always seen her; standing around in the kitchen in her underwear, a joint glued to her fingers.

Suddenly a wave of nostalgic melancholy wrapped the night in a shroud. Clayton slammed his fist against his leg, snapping himself from his reverie. “Comes to us all,” he said, as he checked once more that the gun was loaded. The dark steel barrel was cold, but it would be warm soon enough.

The post Myth Bane! appeared first on Kit Hallows.

New Evil. Relentless Vendettas. Deadly Games. Welcome back to the Dark City.

I have news. Even more news after my last book announcement; A Game of Witches has just been released on Audible, read as ever by the highly talented Shawn Compton.

If you’ve read the book, consider taking the adventure again, this time in audio.

And if you haven’t read A Game of Witches yet, here’s some reviews:

“The tension in the book is beyond compare. I could not read it fast enough to suit me. Then I would have to skim back a few paragraphs to make sure that I hadn’t missed anything!”

“Things are getting serious for Morgan Rook. I like authors who aren’t afraid to let their main character get banged up and bloodied. I cruised through this book.”

“Morgan Rook is one of those characters that will not leave your brain. He grabs on and hijacks everything until you finish the book and start begging for more.”

“This truly is my favorite of the Order of Shadows thus far.”

I loved writing this book, and it’s definitely one of Morgan’s toughest missions yet, so click here to start the adventure today!

The post A Game of Witches Is now available on Audible! appeared first on Kit Hallows.