Wraith(2)

Gabriel schooled his features into an impassive mask and turned back to face Ghrashbreg. ‘Am I a prisoner here?’ His tone might have been mild but his message was clear: mess with me and suffer the consequences.

The goblin chuckled, although the flicker in his bright eyes revealed his inner fear. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He crossed his legs. ‘It grates though, doesn’t it? You’ve only been here a few days and you already feel the weight of being trapped within the city walls. Imagine how we feel after three years. It’s not Filits who are the enemy. We are as innocent of wrongdoing as you are. We’re simply trying to keep a hold on what is ours.’ He gestured at the door. ‘If you’re really so desperate to see the less salubrious parts of Stirling, you are welcome to visit them. But let us arrange a small escort for you. If any harm were to come to you, Holyrood would not be pleased. We wish to avoid the Prime Minister’s displeasure. In fact, if you can be patient and wait until tomorrow night, I will come with you.’

‘I don’t want a guided tour. I want to see the city for myself.’

‘Then you can lead the way and we will follow.’ Ghrashbreg paused. ‘But please, give us time to arrange it so we can do what we can to guarantee your safety.’

Gabriel watched him for a long moment. Eventually he inclined his head in agreement. The two goblin guards at the door melted away and Ghrashbreg stood up.

‘Excellent. In that case I’ll leave you two to enjoy the cake on your own. I’ll take my leave so I can begin to make the necessary arrangements.’ He bowed once and ambled out of the room as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Gabriel and Rymark watched him leave. ‘Well,’ Rymark said, ‘so much for our temporary escape.’ He glanced at his smiling friend. ‘You let him stop you. Why are you so happy about it?’

Gabriel’s smile grew. ‘Because Ghrashbreg isn’t quite as good at hiding his thoughts as he thinks he is. When he said they were only trying to keep a hold on what was theirs, his left hand gave him away. He was holding onto the chair arm so tightly it’s a wonder it didn’t snap off. It wasn’t just proprietary concern over the city. It was excitement.’

Rymark was puzzled. ‘Excitement? What on earth could he be excited about? Are you sure you didn’t read him wrongly?’

Gabriel was prevented from answering by the return of the servant carrying a towering five-tier chocolate cake embellished with spun sugar and delicate decorations. She gave a nervous smile and carefully laid it on the dining table.

‘Wow,’ Rymark exclaimed.

Gabriel waited until the servant had departed. ‘Indeed. But are they trying to impress us or to divert us?’

‘You’re the one who seems to have a hotline to the goblins’ inner thoughts,’ Rymark grumbled. ‘You tell me.’

Something flickered in Gabriel’s dark eyes. He walked over to the chocolate cake and used the tip of his index finger to scoop up some icing. Rymark’s mouth dropped open at the uncharacteristic movement. Gabriel smiled then, in a sudden blur of movement, he spun to his left and snapped out a hand, muttering under his breath. His bare forearm tensed and a band of glowing symbols appeared on his previously unmarred skin, encircling his wrist then extending upwards, stretching up beyond his cuff. His hand grabbed at air, snatching shadows, while Rymark gaped further.

Gabriel hissed out an expletive and pulled a dark shape into the light. It was as insubstantial as the air itself but it writhed violently as it tried to free itself. Gabriel grunted, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead as he fought for control. The symbols on his arm grew brighter and yet still the wretched dark thing squirmed. It swiped out a long limb and Gabriel’s head whipped away from its reach just in time.

‘Cease,’ he commanded, his voice a strained whisper.

The shape tried to attack again.

‘Cease,’ Gabriel repeated. The tendons in his arm strained. ‘My pocket,’ he said to Rymark. ‘There should be a binding in there.’

His friend nipped over, doing everything he could to stay out of the reach of the flailing shadowbeast. His fingers fumbled as he searched, his face white with tension and fear.

‘Well, this is a little closer than I wanted to get to you,’ Rymark joked weakly.

Gabriel gritted his teeth. ‘Hurry. I can’t hold on for much longer.’

Rymark swallowed and nodded. Then, with an audible sigh of relief, he found what he was looking for. Drawing out a long, thin strip of leather, he pressed it into Gabriel’s free hand and stepped back.

Gabriel twisted away from the thing’s grasp before lashing out with the leather. ‘Cease,’ he said, for the third and final time as the leather wrapped itself round the darkness. The thing immediately stopped moving and sank down as if in submission.

‘Is that…?’

Gabriel nodded. ‘A wraith. A shadow assassin. No prizes for guessing who is his target.’

Rymark took an involuntary step backwards. ‘Those goblin bastards.’

Gabriel stared down at the indefinable mass of dark shadow. ‘Not the Filits. Ghrashbreg was right about one thing; they can’t afford for either of us to be hurt.’

‘You think the Gneiss sent this … thing?’

‘It’s certainly possible. They could blame my death on the Filits and then reap all the rewards from the resulting fallout. They have the numbers to force a large-scale city-wide breach if they deem the time is right. Or maybe there’s a third group we are unaware of.’

Rymark was still pale and trembling. ‘You should kill him now. Use the binding to strangle him.’

Gabriel shook his head. ‘No.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I want to see whose shadow this is. I’ve come across wraiths before but never…’ His voice trailed off.

‘Never what?’

‘Nothing. No wraith can survive without its shadow form for more than twenty-four hours. Whoever this is, they will come here. They’ll have no choice.’ He gazed at the creature. ‘Do you hear that?’ he said softly. ‘You’ll have to come to me. Tell me who you’re working for and I’ll let you go.’

The wraith drew himself up, no doubt expending the very last of his energy to do so. Then he floated in front of Gabriel, turning his head to the side so his form sharpened and the outline of his features grew more distinct.

Rymark hissed. ‘Did he just stick out his tongue?’

Gabriel let out a sharp, short laugh. ‘Yeah. I think he did.’





Chapter One




Twenty-four hours earlier



My shadow detached itself from my body. It peeled away, its loose dark shape almost invisible against the growing dusk. It shimmered and shivered, elongating itself as it stretched, against the light thrown across the far wall. As always, the sensation of losing part of myself was faintly painful – and faintly satisfying. If anyone asked, I’d describe it as similar to the feeling when you pull off a plaster. No one ever asked, however. That’s because no one knew what I really was – or what I was truly capable of.

Tonight I had no agenda and no specific destination in mind; I was simply on the prowl to see what I could unearth. There was always something and even the smallest scraps of information had potential. Everyone possessed secrets, deep dark whispers that dwelled in their own shadows and clung to their souls. Very few people had the skill to root them out; in that regard, I was very, very special.

Flitting out through the open window of my fifth-floor flat, my shadow mingled with the other less sentient shapes thrown by the overflowing rubbish bins and towering structures of unwanted furniture. Garbage was supposed to be collected every month but that rarely happened. I’d been told that you could go to the castle to complain. Sometimes the whispers that complaints and pleas were being taken seriously would surge forth like a tidal wave, before ebbing back in their usual disappointing manner.

Just last week, Mrs McTavish, the old widow who lived on the ground floor and pretended to be a cantankerous witch when she was really quite the opposite, told me she’d waited in line for over five hours to put forward her case. Actually, it was our case. She’d been given a number and told to return the following day when someone would definitely speak to her. They’d provide answers. They’d help her out – or so they promised. Except if Mrs McTavish appeared at the castle on a Tuesday, she would miss her slot at the Cowane Street food bank. Given the choice between talking to a proverbial brick wall about the growing rat problem and increasing stench from the uncollected rubbish and having enough food to stay alive, she’d abandoned her campaign before it had begun. After all, it wasn’t as if you could nominate someone else to take your place at Cowane; they were scrupulously strict about IDs. In theory this was good because no one could steal your rations but in practice it meant that if you were ill or infirm you went hungry. And goodness knows, there was enough hunger already.

I’d picked my own neighbourhood clean of its secrets long ago. In truth, burrowing away at people I smiled at during daylight hours was not something I enjoyed. The pathetic titbits I gleaned were never very valuable either. To have a truly successful night, I had two choices – they were very different in style but very similar in foulness. But I did what I had to in order to survive.