Moonlight War- Act II (The Realmers Book 3) Page 8

  The people around were oblivious to the bizarre vehicle, apart from a handful who admired the car with interest. “To the humans it looks like a black limousine,” Tay muttered. “Yes, here’s the card.” He pulled it from the bag.

  “Why do magical races need their own taxis, when they can hide their true appearance with glamours?” she asked as they crossed the road and headed to the meter.

  “The Taxines take them to places only magical folk go too.” Arantay replied mysteriously, pressing his card against the meter.

  Brooke heard a small beeping sound, and Tay stuffed the card away. A couple minutes later, another Taxine cruised into view and stopped by the meter, like it was a bus stop. She headed for the passenger seat whilst Arantay leaned through the driver’s window and passed him several Prince Pounds.

  The interior resembled was softly lit, with two lines of green leather seats going down the length of the vehicle. Brooke didn’t see the driver until she sat down, becoming momentarily alarmed when she saw the troll at the wheel. He wore a burgundy flatcap and had a cigar between his teeth.

  There was a second gearstick behind the normal one. But this gearstick had three options, labelled Air, Water and Spirit. She guessed the taxi could fly as well as drive underwater, but she wasn’t sure what the spirit option meant.

  There was only two other passengers. A beautiful faerie, who would’ve looked like a normal human woman if it wasn’t for her purple eyes and hair like pink silk, lounged on one side. And a middle-aged goblin sat on the other side, sipping an apple-martini.

  “Drink?” Tay asked as he sat beside her and pointed to the Taxine’s minibar.

  “I’m okay, thanks,” she replied.

  The Taxine set off then, moving like a car would. It was surreal; she hadn’t been in a car since she’d arrived at Veneseron. She gazed out the window, remembering what it was like to cruise down the roads. Then the driver pulled his gearstick out of neutral and into the spirit side. Her hands clamped down on her seat and she prepared to shout out a warning as the Taxine sped straight toward a stone wall. Instead of crashing headfirst, the vehicle slipped through the stone like a ghost would and came out on the road at the other side.

  She saw Arantay smiling at her expression.

  Brooke realised why Tay had said the Taxine would get them to their destination fast, the driver took multiple shortcuts by travelling through buildings everywhere as they sped through the city.

  “How come no one sees us disappear through walls?”

  “An observant person might,” Arantay said, “but then their minds would tell them their eyes are just playing tricks.”

  The Taxine stopped suddenly and she saw the Tower of London outside.

  “The goblin mines,” the driver called out. The goblin opened his eyes, hefted up his pickaxe and promptly jumped out. As the car drove away, Brooke saw the goblin lifting up a manhole cover, preparing to descend underground.

  Minutes later, the Taxine stopped again, this time outside the rebuilt shakespeare’s globe,

  “Entrance the the fae realm,” the driver announced.

  “Many thanks,” the fae woman lightly hopped off next.

  After Tay’s instructions, the driver took them to their destination. Brooke guessed the whole journey had only taken ten minutes. They murmured their thanks and left the vehicle, stepping out between two walls covered in graffiti, like urban murals.

  “So, is this the Old Nichol?” Brooke asked.

  Tay snorted, “Kind of, it hasn’t existed for a while.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Old Nichol was a slum in the Victorian times,” said Arantay. “It’s called Bethnal Green now, but I guess our ghost is stuck in the past. Makes sense, I suppose. Now we just need to find the Boundary state. It’s one of the oldest developments here. The spirit must feel at home there.”

  The early evening light had darkened considerably since they’d left the church.

  “Have you met many ghosts before?” She asked as they set off.

  Tay shrugged. “A few. I’m not too familiar with them. I do know that London is one of the most haunted places in this realm.” Arantay peered down the gloomy street. “Hold up, we’re nearly there.”

  The streets had been crowded before they rode the Taxine, now the two of them were alone.

  “How do you do? Scoundrels.”

  Brooke turned to see a young boy behind them.

  “Excuse me,” Brooke replied.

  “Greetings. I reckon I’m the Deaden you’re looking for,” said the boy. “I was told to look out for a girl accompanied by a tall Sir with long red hair and a face as white as me when I flicker.”

  She didn’t understand half the words he’d said, but she knew this boy couldn’t be the ghost they were looking for.

  He leaned against a wall, idly playing a toy in his left hand. He was a portly boy, with short stubby legs and a face covered in black smudges. He wore a too-big waistcoat underneath a frock coat with oversized buttons, as well as a flat cap, and striped brown trousers that only reached the top of his ankles. His cap sat on top of a nest of ginger curls. He wore no socks and his shoes were falling apart, with his big toe sticking out of a hole in the left one. The boy appeared entirely human, albeit one wearing clothes seriously out of fashion. He wasn’t unnaturally white or translucent at all.

  His toy was a wooden cup with a small ball on a string. The boy flipped his cup repeatedly, trying to knock the ball inside.

  Abruptly his form flickered and his skin flashed grey and transparent, before flickering again and going back to normal.

  “You’re the spirit Hallia convened with?” Tay asked incredulously.

  “Indeed I am, sir.” The boy doffed his cap. “Titchy Tim’s the name.”

  “You witnessed Dark-Venators cursing a werewolf?” Brooke said.

  “I might’ve, ma’m. Now that you mention it.” Titchy shrugged innocently.

  “Either you did or you didn’t,” said Arantay. “We don’t have time to waste.”

  “Well, you best give us a few farthings and I might be able to help ‘ya,” Titchy grinned. “I don’t help people for free, you know.”

  “Um, we don’t have any farthings,” said Brooke, right as Arantay said, “What does a ghost need money for?”

  “What did you say? Oh, I swap money from you livelies with clairvoyant folk, who give me cool stuff in return. Sorry, you’ll have to speak up.” Titchy took a finger and wiggled it around in his ear. “I still hear the hisses and rattling’s of the machines. I used to work at this factory.”

  He took the finger out of his ear and pointed it behind him. There wasn’t a factory building behind him, however, but a café. Maybe it used to be a factory in Victorian times, or maybe Titchy still thought it was, but Brooke didn’t know how much ghosts saw things differently to the living.

  “Uh, didn’t the factory close down about a hundred years ago?” she asked.

  “Yes ma’m, but we ghosts still see and hear things from when we was still part o’ the living. I spent all my days at this ‘ere factory. Sometimes I can hear and see myself right back there. Funny old world, eh?”

  “Tell me about it,” Brooke grunted.

  “I’ll tell ya’, I don’t miss me lungs full of dust and soot like they used too. But I do miss the smell of oil for some reason. Can you believe I can’t even smell anymore? And that’s not even the worst thing about being a Deaden. I can’t eat me sheep’s trotters no more. I used to love a bit o’ plum duff for pudding too. Although the raisins in ‘em were mouse droppings more often than not. But it still filled me belly.”

  “Damn,” Tay murmured under his breath.

  “What?” she asked him quietly as Titchy rambled on beside them.

  “He’s a poor boy from Victorian London, probably homeless. Vore might think we’ve just paid him off to spin a tale about the Rakarn. Plus, they’re unlikely to believe the words of a fourteen-year-old scamp, whether he’s paid
or not.”

  “Oi, who you calling a scamp? Pointy ears,” Titchy said. “And I’ve never lied in my life, matter of fact.”

  “It’s better than nothing,” she replied. “And the werewolves might not assume we paid him off. Since most ghosts don’t need money.”

  Arantay sighed. “You’re right. I just hope it’s enough.”

  “Give us some money then,” Titchy held out a hand, wearing a mitten full of holes.

  Master Urkzal had packed a few British notes into their mission pack before they left Veneseron, and she’d been using it to buy food. She always kept some in her pocket and pulled out a twenty to give to the ghost.

  “Many thanks, fine lady.” Titchy beamed. “Come, I’ll tell these dogs what I saw happen to one of their pack.”

  “You can confirm it was Dark-Venators who attacked a werewolf?” Tay asked.

  Titchy nodded. “Oh yes, sir. I saw their black armour, and shooting off their magic, o’course.”

  She heard Big Ben chime in the distance as they set off back through the city, this time into the lair of a werewolf pack. Brooke didn’t know much about ghosts, but she’d rather hang out with them than werewolves, that was for sure.

  “Hey,” Titchy said. “If you’s two die tonight your ghosts won’t be able to leave London. We’ll be able to hang out for all eternity. That’s if you’re lucky enough to come back as ghosts, or unlucky, depending on how you look at it. Either way, I’m just letting you know, if you get ripped apart and eaten by this wolf pack, I’m here for you,” he smiled reassuringly.

  Brooke didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  *

  The Blue Moon Bar was a tall, dark building with its title above the door illuminated in bright blue letters.

  Brooke thought the name cliché, and the nightclub appeared surprisingly ordinary for somewhere that housed a pack of giant wolf men. The line outside was quite a bit shorter than the line outside the Pixie Palace had been, and the people here weren’t as garishly clothed and splashed in make up. This earned Arantay rather a lot of curious stares and whispers as they joined the queue.

  “Why can’t we go in the same way we did the Pixie Palace?” she asked, staring around nervously.

  “You see the doorman.” Arantay pointed.

  The dark suit the doorman wore barely stretched to fit his massive frame. Long straggly hair fell across a rugged face and his yellow eyes gleamed.

  “He’s a werewolf,” she said.

  “If we just showed up in front of Vore and his men by surprise, they might rip us to pieces before we get a chance to talk to them,” Arantay said. “I’ll ask the doorman to let Vore know we’ve come to see him, and that we come in peace. Hopefully we can keep this as civil as possible.”

  “Good idea,” she conceded with a smile. “You aren’t as dumb as you look.”

  Arantay almost smiled back at her.

  “Have you been here before?”

  “Only once, on another mission some years ago,” said Tay. “The lycans aren’t all aggressive or barbaric, but politeness and thinking before they act aren’t qualities most of them possess.”

  They reached the front of the line and the doorman froze. His nose twitched as he picked up on Arantay’s scent and he growled low in his throat.

  “Hold on, we’ve only come to talk.” Arantay held up his hands, palm first. “Me and my companion request an audience with your leader, Vore.”

  “Hi beastie,” Titchy waved enthusiastically.

  The doorman looked between them, noting Arantay’s hair.

  “You’re the two who slew Andon,” he snarled. “King Vore put a bounty on your heads. Anyone who brings you to him is promised a great reward.”

  “Well then,” Brooke said. “Take us to your leader right now and you can claim the reward yourself.”

  Slowly a wolfish smile burgeoned across his thick lips and he grunted. “Okay, oi, watch the door,” he barked at another bouncer. “Venators, come with me.”

  The club inside was gloomy but spacious. Its furnishings included a bar, a cosy seating area, and several other raised levels above the dance floor. The space was full of people drinking and shouting happily; striving to make themselves heard over the deafening music.

  The doorman led them off the main floor and down a side corridor. The corridor led to a small shadowy room where a trap door led down to a cellar. Brooke saw nothing beyond the door except a few stone steps. The strong stench of a myriad of beasts emanated from the trapdoor, a scent akin to someone who owned a small house and five dogs.

  “I can’t smell no more,” said Titchy, “but judging by your expressions, it looks like these pups pong a bit.”

  “Ssh,” Brooke told him. “Don’t say anything to rile the wolves up, okay. That’s if we can have a civilised discussion with them at all.”

  Titchy pouted. “I’ll try, but no promises, ma’am.”

  The bouncer gave them a warning look as they descended. Brooke couldn’t help thinking they were walking straight into the lion’s den.

  The cellar must’ve run the entire length of the nightclub. It was huge, and as hot as a furnace. Whereas the vampires’ lair was tinged with a preternatural ghostly chill, the werewolves abode was like stepping into a piping hot oven. A dozen smells attacked her senses, smells of dog breath, sweaty flesh, and blood.

  The vampire’s lair was quiet, filled only with soft whispers and silvery laughter, but the lycan’s base was filled with howls of fury and delight, snarls and barks, bellows and roars.

  She heard them way before she saw them, and when she did, she felt like running straight back up the stairs and as far away from this place as possible.

  Some of the wolves appeared entirely human, despite their intimidating size and yellow eyes. Others reminded her of demons she’d seen, with snouts and muzzles and sharp pointed ears, with patches of hairy flesh sprouting along their chests and faces. There were a few lycans neither human, nor completely wolfen, standing monstrously on two legs and terrible to behold. This group were partway into their transformations; it appeared as if the werewolves could change at will.

  She remembered her training. Gettelung had mentioned that most werewolves could only shift forms at will once the sun had set, never during the day. On nights of the full moon, however, they were stuck in their wolf forms.

  “You’re interrupting us, Venators,” the doorman said. “We’re partaking in our favourite past time.”

  His words became clear as she paid closer attention to what the lycans were doing. None of the werewolves had noticed their arrival, they were so engrossed in their activity. They’d gathered in the colossal cellar in a wide circle, cheering wildly as two of them fought in the middle of the circle.

  The two beasts battling one another were in full beast form, one was a wolf, the other a panther. They both stood on two legs, but their upper bodies and heads were full animals. They tore into each other with shark-like teeth, ripping hairy flesh with curved claws.

  As she watched, the werepanther scooped up the lycan and slammed him down on the concrete floor with tremendous force. He then mounted the fallen wolf and smashed his snout with hammer-like fists.

  Two more werewolves surged forwards and pulled the victor off before he could kill his opponent.

  “And Kane is our winner once again,” another lycan bellowed to the crowd.

  The audience roared in appreciation. Brooke saw saliva drip in ropes from more than one elongated mouth.

  Tube-lighting threw the circle where they battled into bright light. As Kane shifted back to his human form, she saw the blood smeared across his chest. Kane’s opponent stood and shook his hand warmly, as if nothing had happened.

  Brooke noticed that their presence hadn’t gone unnoticed after all. Quinn, the werepanther they’d encountered before, was watching her intently. He looked to be no older than her, yet his body swelled with raw muscle, as if his skin could hardly contain it. Despite his dirty, unkempt appearance
there was a softness around his eyes. It was hard for her to think that he could be as barbaric as his brethren.

  “I thought I smelled tainted flesh.” Kane had spotted them too.

  He wiped blood from his maw and stalked forward. “You dare to enter here after killing our own. We were going to hunt you down, but since you’ve come freely, we’ll be more than happy to finish you now.” Kane’s lips pulled back to a bestial grin.

  The competitive fighting stopped. The circle turned their golden gaze to the intruders. Growls and dog-like laughter reverberated around the vast cellar.

  The moroi of Hallia’s coven had been the epitome of neat and noble folk, whilst the wolf pack were the epitome of rugged and ravaged animals. Brooke wasn’t sure which scared her more.

  “We didn’t kill Andon, I swear.” Arantay’s melodic voice broke through the guttural monotony.

  “Lies!” Kane was the first of many to chorus. “You should have gone back to your magic fairy land when you had the chance. Venators are not welcome here, especially ones with filthy blood. I reckon we kill them slowly, eh boys? Make ‘em suffer for what they’ve done.”

  Another shifter stepped out from the crowds to stand at Kane’s side. She was tall and sleekly muscled, with a wild mane of bushy blonde hair. Judging by her unnatural amber eyes and what she learned in Creature-Study, Brooke surmised this shifter was a werelion.

  “For once, you are correct, Kane.” The werelion pursed her lips. “Not only do they kill our kin, but given the tainted blood of the red-haired boy, I’d guess they’re allied with blood hunters as well.”

  “No need to guess, Serren,” Kane replied to her. “I’d bet on it.”

  “We hold no allegiance to the vampires,” Arantay said.

  “You have a quick tongue, don’t you?” Serren grinned, showing off her razor sharp canines.

  “Perhaps I should rip it out,” Kane snarled.

  “Hold on.” Quinn came forward. “We should see what they want before we act.”

  “Silence pup,” Serren snapped. “You do not speak here.”

  “We seek an audience with Vore,” Brooke interjected, trying to keep things from getting out of hand. “We can tell you why Andon really lost his mind. We tried to cure him, I swear.”