Deadly Portent: An Uncanny Kingdom Urban Fantasy (The London Coven Series Book 3) Read online

  DEADLY PORTENT

  A LONDON COVEN STORY

  M.V. STOTT

  CONTENTS

  Become an Insider

  Also Available

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Leave a Review

  Become an Insider

  Ghosted: Fresh Hell

  Dark Lakes: Magic Eater

  Also Available

  Copyright © 2017 by Genre Reader

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  BECOME AN INSIDER

  …and receive FREE BOOKS, including an EXCLUSIVE prequel to the LONDON COVEN series. Also, be the FIRST to hear about NEW RELEASES and SPECIAL OFFERS in the UNCANNY KINGDOM universe. Just hit the link below…

  FREE BOOKS!

  ALSO AVAILABLE

  Experience the Uncanny.

  London Coven is just one of several urban fantasy series set in the Uncanny Kingdom universe. You can check out all of the Uncanny Kingdom books currently available by going HERE.

  1

  The screaming came first.

  Not just one scream, but a multitude, jabbing sharply into the street and causing the passing foot traffic to put an extra spring in their step as they propelled themselves away from the sound as quickly as possible.

  ‘Well, Stella, that does not sound good,’ said Detective David Tyler, a master of understatement if ever there was one. ‘Not good at all.’

  ‘Let’s do this,’ I replied.

  As I clenched my fists and made to move forwards, a large, shrieking man shot by me. He’d been ejected at speed from the blind alley that hid The Fenric club, and landed in a bloody mess at our feet. To any of the passing drinkers and characters that patrolled Mayfair at this hour, it would have looked like the man with the windmilling arms was spat from a solid brick wall. A few people gave a double take, but most just kept on moving; you don’t get involved unless you have to in a place like London.

  David took a knee by the man as he looked up at us, wiping blood from his nose with the back of one hand.

  ‘Have a tissue,’ said David, holding out a crisp, white one.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ the man yelled, grabbing the Kleenex and squeezing his nostrils closed with it. ‘We called you an hour ago, what took you so long?’

  I helped the man—who was at least twice my size—up onto his feet, his knees threatening to drop him again before he propped himself against the wall and tipped back his head to stem the bleeding.

  ‘We came as fast as we could,’ I told him. ‘Hammersmith and Mayfair are not exactly side-by-side.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ he said, or more accurately, grunted. The man (not that he was one, not exactly) was Lodo, the doorman of The Fenric, a five story private members club in the belly of Mayfair. It was a place for the Uncanny to hang out and socialise, a little like The Beehive, but for a more elite set of clientele. There were no sticky floors in this establishment, and the smell from the toilets stayed strictly where it belonged.

  No, the Fenric was for a different class of Uncanny. A different breed even. You had to be invited and vouched for by three different members just to be given the address of the place, let alone be let in there. I’d never actually been inside myself of course. I might belong to the London Coven, but I was only a lowly familiar.

  ‘What exactly is going on in there?’ I asked.

  ‘Didn’t he tell you?’

  ‘Your manager was pretty keen to get off the phone so he could run for cover,’ I replied. ‘What can you actually tell me about—’

  ‘She’s a monster! She’s tearing the place apart! Just stop your shitting yapping, get in there, and do your bloody job, you stupid woman!’

  I looked at Lobo’s wide, popping eyes. At the veins on his neck sticking out like ropes and the spittle on his lips. And I punched him square on the jaw.

  As his eyes rolled shut and he slid to the ground with a solid thump, I turned to David. He was looking at me like a teacher would a naughty child.

  I shrugged.

  David smiled and nodded to the blind alley that housed The Fenric. Both of us could see it as clear as day, even as it remained hidden from the ordinary folk of Mayfair. ‘So what d’you think's waiting for us in there?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing good,’ I replied.

  ‘We never go anywhere nice,’ he sighed.

  I strode into the blind alley with David on my tail. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, ‘I took you on that yacht party on the Thames last week.’

  ‘One of the guests turned into a werewolf and ate the other guests.’

  ‘Yes, but there was free champagne.’

  ‘That’s true. And sausage rolls. I like sausage rolls. Well, I like any meat wrapped in pastry, to be honest.’

  We stopped and looked up at the Fenric’s facade, all dark, weathered bricks and criss-crossed wooden beams.

  ‘There doesn’t seem to be as much screaming now,’ David noted. ‘In my experience on the force, that’s never a good thing.’

  A window three stories up smashed, causing us to duck for cover as a swarm of shards buzzed down, followed by a chair. The cobbles broke its fall, and also just broke it.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, and walked into The Fenric.

  Unlike The Beehive, there were no magic-dampening spells protecting this place. As The Fenric prided itself on its higher class of clientele, its lack of dampening was a way of saying, “We don’t have the same sort of mindless riff-raff in here, thank you very much. Our patrons can control themselves without the necessity of some magical flim-flam.” The snooty could be dumb, that was for certain.

  As we entered the first main room I half expected to be met by a footman in a powdered wig, but the place was empty save for a collection of comfy chairs and a discreet bar in the corner. Not one of the chairs remained intact though, and the bar looked like a giant had reached into the room and crushed it in its fist.

  A muffled cry came from somewhere above, so we moved on.

  ‘What do you think it is? A goblin? Another werewolf? An eaves?’

  ‘Shh,’ I replied.

  ‘A “Shh,” huh? Not heard of one of those.’

  I ignored David’s shit-eating grin and we made our way up the stairs, glass crunching under our feet.

  The next floor was much the same as the first: broken furniture, a smashed up bar, and scorch marks on the walls that told me angry magic had been tossed around up there.

  To the third floor we crept.

  I reached out with my senses, trying to get an impression of what it was we were about to go up ag
ainst, but whatever it was was powerful and knew how to block me from getting a clear fix.

  Fourth floor next, the same story as the others. David stood at my side, panting slightly. ‘You’re sure there isn’t a lift in this place?’

  ‘Okay, last floor, get ready,’ I said.

  The fifth and final floor is where we found the creature causing all the chaos.

  She stood with her back to us as we edged into the room, and was swaying back and forth like the room was rocking. Her hair was a long, dark riot of waves, her clothes black and raggedy. In one hand she clutched a bottle of whiskey, in the other, a ball of red and yellow crackling energy.

  ‘Please, stop her!’ said the man with the pinched face who was cowering behind what was left of this floor’s bar.

  The woman swigged from the bottle as she casually tossed the ball of magic in the man's direction. He shrieked and ducked as the magic sailed over his head and smashed into an expensive-looking art deco sculpture, turning it into slag metal.

  ‘Well,’ said David. ‘Better do your thing, magic lady. Put her down.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ I replied.

  ‘Smart move, sister,’ said the woman with a slur, turning towards us and performing an awkward curtsy. ‘Workers unite!’

  She was a familiar.

  ‘David, meet Eva Familiar.’

  Eva waved, causing David to yelp and jump out of the way as she accidentally sent a ball of fire in his direction.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Eva. ‘Had the safety off.’

  2

  It turned out the pinched-face man was the manager of The Fenric. He said his name was Pierre Moreau, though his accent didn’t betray even a ghost of French. As we stood in the street and I tried to keep the outstandingly drunk Eva from wandering off, David did his best to placate him.

  ‘The damage!’ he roared. ‘My god, it’ll cost thousands! Tens of thousands!’

  ‘Can’t you just do a little, you know, Mary Poppins style clean up?’ asked David. ‘A click of the fingers and the chairs fix themselves?’

  ‘Stuck up bitch, that Poppins,’ slurred Eva. ‘You heard me. No time for her. Nope.’

  ‘She’s fictional,’ I replied.

  ‘Right, right, right, yeah, I know. Course. Who is? Has anyone seen Rambo? Now that’s a film!’

  Lodo was stood by his manager's side, glaring daggers at Eva. I was hoping he wouldn’t do anything stupid, like to try to attack her as she had her back turned, as I could guarantee that would end very badly for him.

  ‘And then there’s our reputation,’ said Frenchie Le Fake. ‘This is not The Beehive!’ He almost gagged on the other bar’s name. ‘We pride ourselves on our relaxed, non-violent atmosphere. But then this… this thing turns up, demanding entrance, and refusing to go away!’

  Eva twirled, bottle of whisky still in her hand, and pointed at the manager, who hopped behind Lodo with a shriek. ‘He was rude about my general demeanor and, you know, potty mouth, and such. The ignorant fucker.’ She went for a swig from the bottle, found it empty, and tossed it over her shoulder.

  ‘You see,’ replied Pierre. ‘You see!’

  He flinched and ducked again as Eva raised her fighting hand, then lowered it, barking out a laugh.

  We took our leave soon after that. We’d dealt with the problem, it wasn’t our job to compensate or clean up. I fought monsters, I didn’t sweep up, too.

  ‘So, are you going to tell me who she is exactly?’ asked David as the tube train shot us home.

  I looked over to Eva, who was stretched out across several seats, sound asleep.

  ‘Eva Familiar. She’s like me. Well, not quite, she’s much older.’

  ‘How much older?’

  ‘If the stories are true, she’s been alive for almost five-hundred years.’

  ‘Well, shit.’

  ‘Yep.’

  Eva snorted and rolled over, turning her back on us.

  ‘What is she doing here? I sort of assumed you lot stayed with your own coven.’

  ‘We do. At least we’re supposed to. But Eva doesn’t have a coven anymore.’

  We managed to wake a disgruntled Eva in time to skip off the train, then steered her out of the station and back to my home.

  ‘This it then?’ she asked, swaying before the front door.

  ‘Yes, this is the London Coven.’

  My place of creation. The sanctuary of the protectors of London since long before the place even used that name. My coven.

  ‘Right. I really need a bit of a piss,’ she replied, and let herself in.

  ‘Hey,’ said David, ‘how did she…? What about all the protection spells?’

  ‘She’s a familiar, David. This place knows its own.’

  We followed her in.

  If it seems like I know Eva, I’m giving the wrong impression. I know of her, and I feel a connection to her as we’re both familiars, but this was first time I’d actually met her face-to-face.

  I’d heard the stories though. Of the wandering familiar. The very idea of it made me feel funny. A familiar is not supposed to wander from their coven, doing what they please when they please. We’re created for one purpose and one purpose alone: to protect the people safeguarded by our covens. But we did have something in common, Eva and I, apart from both being familiars: something terrible had happened to our witches.

  ‘What’s a fully grown woman got to do to get a drink in this place?’ said Eva, draped over a chair in the coven’s main room.

  ‘How long have you been drinking?’ I asked.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Ten thirty P.M.’

  ‘October fifth, 1917.’

  ‘David, coffee, strong,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, I’m a waiter now?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Eva, ‘Now don’t make us wait-er any longer.’ She burst out into tear-rolling hysterics.

  ‘That is the worst joke I’ve ever… was that even a joke?’ said David.

  ‘Wait… er…!’

  ‘Two sugars, please,’ I said, and David left the room, still grumbling.

  ‘He’s a fine young boy, Stella Familiar. Where’d you find that side-piece?’

  I ignored her. ‘What are you doing in London, Eva? And why didn’t you come here first if you were passing through?’

  ‘You know, this is a much nicer coven than mine. The Cumbrian Coven is all cold and medieval looking. Depressing. I used to go on at my witches all the time about redecorating. Updating the place a little, but would they listen? Pfft.’

  The inside of the London Coven looked a lot like an old village pub in many ways, the kind you rarely saw anymore. Dark wood, a large open fireplace, beams low overhead. You could imagine the air thick with pipe smoke and the taste of ale.

  Eva pulled a small bottle of something strong from an inside pocket, took a swig, then offered it my way.

  ‘No thanks,’ I said.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ she replied, and necked a large mouthful.

  ‘Well? Why are you here?’

  ‘Hey, everybody’s got to be somewhere. And I’m here,’ she said, tapping the arm of her chair.

  ‘So that’s it, you were just wandering through?’

  ‘It’s what I do these days. Just because you continue to let yourself be tied to a desk, doesn’t mean I have to. I’m free!’

  She snorted and took another swig before pocketing the bottle. So that’s all it was, another stop on her endless wander. Okay. Looks like I was expected to play host, which is not something I was created for.

  ‘So, are you going to fill me in?’ said Eva, interrupting my train of thought.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Oh, you’re a secretive one, are you? Your non-normal normal, what’s the story?’

  I felt my heart skip a beat. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Don’t kid a kidder, young one.’

  ‘Milk?’ called David from the kitchen.

  �
�Black!’ said Eva. ‘Like my heart.’ She snorted, then began waving her hands around in front of her face. ‘Ooh! Look at it go.’

  I watched as she washed the colours in the air around herself. The heavy concentration of magic in the coven could be hypnotic; great, multi-coloured waves that swam around the place constantly.

  ‘He’s not normal, is he?’ she said, getting back to her point.

  ‘He is. He’s just my friend. Just Detective David Tyler, that’s all.’

  ‘Nah. He’s… odd. I’m not entirely—’ she burped, then continued ‘—sure what he is. Lots of, you know, magic bouncing around in him for someone who isn't actually magic. It’s fizzing around in that body like a firework display. I’m surprised he’s able to keep it under wraps.’

  I daren’t tell her the truth. The truth about David’s recent explosive demonstrations of magic. About how, when I’d been cut off in the nightmare realm as it collapsed—the home of a creature brought into existence to torment children everywhere—that David had somehow, impossibly, appeared, eyes burning with white hot flames, and saved my life.

  David didn’t remember a thing about it. I’d gently prodded at the issue, trying to see if anything would spark, but he was completely oblivious. As far as he was concerned I’d just woken up from the dream state I’d put myself in. He hadn’t done anything to help.