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  “How does it work?” Henry said.

  “Magic not a good enough answer?”

  Henry folded his arms across his chest.

  “Maybe you should master the basics first? In fact-”

  “Gabriel, is all this a trick? Part of some game? I'm guessing the drugs you gave me haven't actually worn off, have they? I'm just hallucinating, tripping on whatever chemicals are rushing through my veins, the whole time you are trying to get something from me. What is it? Even if everything you have said is true, you couldn’t keep this place a secret, even with magic-”

  “Magus,” Gabriel corrected.

  “Ok, ‘magus’, people would find it. If I can see though, why can't everyone else?”

  “Well, that is simple. You only know because you were told by someone who already knows. The Government and Inquisition, that's the place I work for and is full of people like you, ensure that nobody talks about it. You've read all those conspiracy theories about phone tapping, scanning internet histories and messages sent between people? The idea that the government are always watching what you are up to? Truth ain't that far off. We need to make sure this keeps a secret and, through a combination of technology and magus, we manage it pretty well. Anyway, you need to shut up now. That is, unless you wanna end up dead and I don't fancy that by the way - it would cause way too much paperwork.”

  - Chapter 8 -

  Freak

  They walked to the end of the street and around the corner onto a wider road. Henry hadn't really focused on the people down the first street, but this one was packed, as people hurried in and out of doorways and open plan shops. Others huddled around food stalls, bartering with the market sellers, who called out to passers-by as they attempted to sell their wares. The noise washed over Henry as people barged past, knocking him aside as they went about their business. Hundreds of people, working, trading and, looking further at the rooms on the upper floors, living in this secret city. They all looked so ordinary.

  Still guiding Henry by his elbow, Gabriel increased their pace as they moved toward the end of the road. They passed numerous run-offs and side streets which made Henry consider again his chances of escaping. It shouldn't be difficult to lose Gabriel, running down a street and hiding himself in the crowd. Thing was, with his sense of direction being so terrible, how would he ever find his way out? He could ask someone, but then again, could he trust anyone here?

  It was only when Henry truly looked at the people around him, that his doubts in the existence of magic started to extinguish. Beside him, a little boy walked along at a similar pace, swirling a stick in the air without ever touching it. His fingers twitched and the stick danced under his control. Henry looked for a string, some mechanism to it, but saw nothing. The boy was controlling the stick as if by… magic.

  “Get out my mind and my shop you cheating Grol.”

  A word Henry had heard before, his attention caught by the speaker. A butcher, his apron bloodied, was chasing a skinny girl, her hair a faded blonde, from a shop, shaking his fist in the air.

  “If you bloody Grols can't keep honest, I don't want any of your kind in my shop. No powers in trading,” the butcher said.

  The man in front of Henry stopped and shouted at the butcher.

  “Racist!”

  “It's not bloody racist, I am trying to run a business here. The use of powers is against the-”

  The man ignored him, pulling his hood over his head as he continued down the road. That was when Henry noticed what he was doing. The man's right hand was slightly extended from his side as flames, like little meteors, flew in between his fingers, weaving around his hand. His other hand, now free from raising his hood, flicked and the flame jumped across to it, the ribbon of fire resting in his palm, slowly turning on the spot.

  It was like being in a circus, full of impossible things. A place that collected the curious and the bizarre. One thing that didn't go un-noticed to Henry as they carried on down the street, was the distinct lack of mirrors or reflective surfaces around, glass was kept dirty and windows smudged. Was that for the benefit of people like him, those who could see the monsters?

  About 50 meters away from it, Henry realised what they were heading towards. At the end of the street stood a tall black building that disappeared both beyond the ceiling and ground, shaped like an inverted triangle. Spanning across its full width at ground level were a pair of block-like doors propped open to reveal a room which appeared to house a series of security gates. Guards dressed in midnight blue stood around the entrance, their uniforms made of an unusual woven material that reminded Henry of Kevlar, the fabric conforming to the contours of their bodies. Long black guns, resting against their chests as they paced from door to door, told Henry that once they were inside, getting out was not going to be an option.

  They were approaching the entrance to this triangular building when it hit them. A pulse of heat flung Henry off his feet and onto his back, hitting the floor awkwardly. Flames bloomed from every orifice of the building, casting the street in hues of red and orange. Pieces of the building tumbled through the air, falling as metallic meteors around them, as a low pitch whine rang in Henry's ears. He sat himself up and slowly started to take in the chaos that had erupted around them. People lay limp and unmoving on the ground, the crackle of the flames the only noise for a moment, before cries of pain filled the sky. The blue suited guards lay strewn around the entrance, their bodies burnt and bloodied, perfectly still amongst the collapsing wreckage.

  “Deliver us for repression, deliver us from segregation, deliver us from persecution!”

  The words chanted in the air, each repetition becoming louder and louder. People pushed past Henry, moving towards the building, but not to give aid. Henry noticed the guns in their hands and knew what was coming next. Shots surrounded around him as everyone on the street scrambled to move out of the line of fire. Henry felt Gabriel's hand grasp his shoulder again, hoisting him onto his feet.

  “We need to move, now,” Gabriel said.

  “What's happening?” Henry said.

  Across the street, the hooded man Henry had spotted before now had a fireball, the size of a basketball, forming between his fingers. Pulling it closer to him, the flames compacted into a fierce white inferno that, with a flick of his hand, catapulted into the building with a flash of fiery red.

  “All of this is probably meant for you. We need to run.”

  Gabriel was pointing to a woman at the side of the street who held a large metal contraption, scanning the crowd. As her arc moved towards Henry, she slowed, eventually stopping directly on him.

  “He's here,” she screamed out.

  Following Gabriel's direction, Henry ran down an alleyway packed full of people fleeing the explosion, squeezing in-between them to get through. Protests sounded as Gabriel barged his way past, constantly shouting for Henry to hurry up.

  “They are heading down here. Quickly!” The woman screamed from behind them.

  Henry didn't look back. It was like trying to make your way across a tube station at rush hour, except now everyone’s incentive was to save their own lives. People fell either side of him, but were soon covered by others desperate to escape. Henry tried to blank the screams from his mind, but they would live with him for a long time. The alley was long and twisted, Gabriel shoving Henry down random offshoots and turns in an attempt to get away.

  Finally, the people thinned out and the alleyway opened onto another street, oddly similar to the one they had first seen on entering the under-city. The place was some kind of strangely repetitive labyrinth. He breathed heavily, resting his weight on his knees and bent forward. Henry found himself laughing at his exhaustion and how beyond reason the entire situation was, even his dreams were not this abstract.

  “Are you completely inept at physical activity?” Gabriel said.

  “What?” Henry said.

  “How on earth can you be out of breath?”

  “Oh shut up. What happened
?”

  “Deliverance. They're the terrorist group that are the hunting you. We need to shelter somewhere until I can think of a plan.”

  “What was that building?”

  “Safety. They knew that was where I would take you and lucky for us, made it there before we did, assumed we were already inside.”

  “They blew up that building, killed all those people, to get to me?”

  Henry felt sick. How many people had died then? Tens? Hundreds? The initial explosion had killed so many, but then the attack had begun. And in the streets as they escaped, how many more had died trying to get away?

  “Inquisitors are difficult to kill once they are trained, their best chance is when you’re green. It's especially rare to find one just transformed and not in an Inquisition strong-hold.”

  “I'm not worth that many lives, you should have left me.”

  “Don't be a fool, Inquisitors save hundreds if not thousands of lives over their careers. If not for them, this world would fall apart.”

  What could Henry possibly do enough to make up for all of those deaths? The faces of those prone on the ground, their eyes lifeless, flashed into Henry's mind and he knew, if he survived this, they would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life.

  Gabriel reached into his jacket pocket and then paused, “Probably not safe to call for help. They can still track you, so we need to move.”

  “There's help? Surely we can-” Henry said, but he was too late.

  Gabriel had begun to run again and, after realising what he was doing, Henry sprinted to catch up. He needed to block what just happened from his mind, deal with it later, his focus now needed to be on staying alive and figuring out what the hell was going on.

  Gabriel stopped at the edge of some kind of moat, a torrent of water flowing past, brown and reeking of sewage. A small wooden bridge led across to a pair of large burgundy fabric curtains. In a blink, Gabriel disappeared through them. Henry begrudgingly crossed the bridge, the wooden beams creaking and warping underfoot, before coming to a stop at the curtains. On the other side was a muffled barrage of noise and voices, and a waft of fried food that mixed, rather horribly, with the sewage smell surrounding him. It seemed in the under-city, things just got stranger and stranger.

  Gabriel stuck his head back through the curtain and, grabbing the fabric of Henry's shirt, pulled him through.

  Where the streets before had been dimly lit, on the other side of the curtain was as bright as the midday sun. Artificial light, from long columns in the ceiling, bathed everything in a golden glow. They were stood in one of a series of small square courtyards and, like standing between two glass mirrors, the courtyards echoed over and over again into the distance, twisting slightly out of sight. The street was close-knit, even more so than before, with stalls spilling out far into the centre of the block, leaving no clear path to take, except to weave in between the sellers.

  Gabriel led Henry by the shoulder through four blocks before he stopped abruptly and drove him into a cafe of some sort. It disappeared back from the courtyard, with individual round tables and ornate chairs filling every available space. Gabriel smiled at the waitress, a small woman with brilliant green eyes, that glowed even brighter when Henry caught her stare, as she guided them to a table at the back. Gabriel took the seat with the view into the street forcing Henry to take the other, concealed by the wall of the cafe.

  “So,” Henry said, catching his breath. “To sum things up to far... I'm a freak?”

  Gabriel smiled and sat back in the chair, “From what I've read about you Henry, you've always been a freak.”

  - Chapter 9 -

  Betrayed

  The drawing room quickly filled with people, before they filed out again, the meeting’s unexpected revelations etching a mixture of concern and anger onto the faces of those who left. An alliance between the Government and the Inquisition was more than most people in the alternate community would ever be able to accept. The Inquisition was supposed to be independent, a representative of the alternate way as much as an enforcer of magus lore. What Wade had done tonight had consequences bigger than anyone could appreciate, but Meyer refused to believe that he had made such a stupid decision without a larger game plan in mind.

  Wade was last out of the chamber, ushering Oberon out ahead of him, the old doyen still protesting, before conceding that the cause was lost. Wade scanned around the room and noticing Meyer called out, his eyes narrowing with a false smile.

  “Meyer, my old friend.”

  “Wade,” Meyer said.

  “And Ruth, how do you continue to be so young?”

  Ruth did not respond, except to offer him a stare similar to a terrier eyeing up a rat it would like to savage.

  “What can we do for you?” Meyer said.

  “Thank you for coming,” Wade said. “What happened to your jacket?”

  Meyer had forgotten about that and wasn't thankful for the reminder.

  “I had a run in with some... youths, nothing really.”

  “A sign of the times I am afraid.”

  “Council meetings are normally on a-”

  “Council business is private Meyer, I can't discuss it with you, as you well know. Anyway, to business. I have received a report that Mark has been found dead. He was hunting Grendal and appears to have been bested. The police are at the scene now which means we will have to recover the body later,” Wade said.

  “Mark is dead? When?” Meyer said.

  “I was just informed.”

  “My Lord. Wait, this wasn't why you called me in, it can't be.”

  “Earlier tonight I received some information about Mark that I wanted to ask you about. Mark has...” Wade stopped and took a slow, measured breath, “had a son. Did you know about this?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you kept this hidden from the Inquisition? This is unacceptable, do you-”

  “Council lore requires me to not withhold any information from the Inquisition that pertain to alternate matters. I am however, as you so rightly pointed out, no longer a member of this council and therefore, have no obligation to let the council know something Mark chooses to keep a secret.”

  “Chose to keep a secret. I suppose it doesn't matter, we are bringing the child in, Deliverance managed to hunt him down.”

  “Is he safe?”

  “Gabriel took him to the under-city. If they survive, we will begin the boys training-”

  “Gabriel?” Meyer smiled. If one of Wade's men had picked up the boy, he very much doubted he would have lasted the night, but Gabriel could be trusted, at least he hoped so.

  “Yes, he was in the area when the alert went up. I am going to give responsibility for his training to-”

  “Me. Look at Mark's recorded testament, sealed in the Archives, you will find he listed me as his requested trainer for the boy.”

  “But you are no longer a member of the council, you-”

  “Wade, my dear old chap. Do you not recall our own laws? You removed me from the council, but not as a member of this Inquisition. Any former council member can still act as a trainer for a practicing Inquisitor. That is lore.”

  Wade's lip curled down.

  “I would also like to lead the investigation into Mark's murder, do you object?” Meyer said.

  “You are too late. I am investigating the matter myself, although his death was inevitable.”

  “Inevitable?” Ruth said, rising up from her chair, her head only reaching the shoulders of Wade and Meyer.

  “We have lost several Inquisitors to Grendal, Mark obviously wasn't up to the task. I will sort this out myself,” Wade said.

  “And why will you do any better? Grendal would snap your boney little body without any difficulty, I tell you. And it's not like your mind powers can work on him, I suppose you could bore him to-”

  “I have sent assistance into the under-city,” Wade said. “But it will be difficult to trace them. The Vault was attacked minutes ago, I imagine
Gabriel will try to hide the child somewhere. The boy needs a sponsor and as he will be working with him anyway, I am going to select Tristan for that task.”

  “Would it not be better if Alice-” Ruth said.

  “I have made my decision, which is in line with Magus lore, isn't it Meyer?” Wade said.

  “Is that the only reason you brought us here? To ask if we knew about the boy?” Meyer said.

  “No. I have been informed that Mark was working on something off record, researching the fifth blood. Do you know anything about that?”

  “The fifth blood? The idea that any of that still exists is a fairy-tale Wade. Are you not busy enough with real problems?”

  Wade stood blankly for a second, his eyes focused on Meyer’s, before he smiled a final time.

  “I guess we will have to see what the boy remembers,” Wade said, crossing the room without a goodbye.

  “By the Lord I hate the little git,” Ruth said.

  “You and me both,” Meyer said.

  “I did like Mark, such a shame. And his boy, Meyer, I didn't know about him. You kept it a secret, even from me? Does he know about the old religion?” Ruth said.

  “The old religion? Nobody calls it that anymore, heck, hardly anyone calls it magus these days. The boy was raised as a human, the safest thing for him. Mark told me in confidence and I respected that,” Meyer said.

  “Not bloody safe for him now. I wonder where Gabriel will take him?”

  “How would I know?”

  “And I don't like the idea of Wade leading the hunt for Grendal. I don't think a lunatic killing humans and alternates alike is really his area of expertise.”

  “You still don't believe it's actually Grendal then? Survived the centuries only to return for his revenge on the world?” Meyer said, smiling.

  “Don't be a wally. All I'm saying is maybe the investigation needs a little-” Ruth paused and a grin spread across her face, “assistance.”

  From the corner of his eye, Meyer saw a man run up to Wade, trying to speak between laboured breaths. Having not made eye contact, this would be a strain to achieve, especially after all the energy he had expended. However, given the amount of mystery already enveloping the evening, knowledge was not to be snubbed. Meyer focused all his effort on the man, sweat trailing down his head as he did.