Brittle Midnight

Book 2: City of Magic

by Helen Harper

Genres: Urban Fantasy; Literary Fiction

Synopsis

Who ever thought that life after an apocalyptic event would be easy?

Charley is under pressure. The demands of her new community are piling on stress after stress and, even with her developing magical skills, she's finding it hard to cope. Things aren't any better for Monroe-his grief and guilt over what happened to his werewolf pack are overwhelming him. When dead bodies start to appear across the city, they're going to have to work together to prevent more killings. But whether they'll be able to survive together too is anyone's guess.

Release date: March 1, 2019

Print pages: 277

Sample

Prologue

 

 

The punch, when it came, broke his nose. Monroe heard the sickening crack almost before he felt the flash of pain. The onlookers didn’t bother to mask their shocked gasps. Whatever. They could think what they wanted. He ignored the spray of blood that splattered onto the ground in front of him and turned to face the young werewolf once again.

 

For all his swagger and bravado, Nero suddenly looked rather nonplussed. From the expression on his face, the last thing he’d expected was to land such a blow. Monroe bared his teeth. The boy’s alpha should be doing more to teach him to guard against displaying his emotions too obviously. But then again, Julian had always been something of a soft touch.

 

Monroe shook his head slightly, his dark-red curls damp with sweat. He could see with the easy clarity of experience that Nero’s left side was vulnerable. Not only did the kid hold himself stiffly, favouring that side as if bothered by an old injury, but he also had his fists lowered. A simple jab to his kidneys and he’d be floored. Then it would all be over.

 

Monroe let the kid hit him again, a teeth knocking blow to the side of his head which was followed up by a sharp kick to his ribs. That was better. Nero was pressing his advantage. It was about time. As Monroe spun from the force of the first hit, more blood from his wounds arced out, spraying at least three of the watching crowd. One of them, an older looking vampire, appeared delighted and used the tip of his finger to smear Monroe’s blood onto his tongue. He smacked his lips, ignoring the glares from the werewolves next to him.

 

Monroe ignored the lot of them. He wasn’t there for them. He pivoted onto his toes, exposing his right flank just enough for Nero to notice. The shock and dismay that the younger werewolf had displayed at managing to beat the older maestro was being replaced by the heady combination of bloodlust and power. This time he was going to go in for kill. Monroe was going to let him.

 

‘Enough.’

 

There was a collective groan from the crowd. Julian’s eyes narrowed, his bristling anger forcing them all to slink away into the shadows from where they’d come. Monroe’s glare matched Julian’s, spark for furious spark.

 

‘What did you do that for?’ Nero burst out, barely able to contain himself. ‘I had him! I was beating him! It was a fair fight and I was better! You—’

 

‘Don’t be a fucking idiot,’ Julian growled.

 

The censure in his alpha’s voice finally made Nero drop his shoulders in submission. ‘I didn’t start it.’

 

‘I don’t care.’ Julian’s eyes hardened. ‘Get out of here.’

 

At first Nero remained, a flicker of tell-tale indecision rippling through him. Then, with a final huff, he did as he was told and bent down to pick up his jacket before following the others out of the room.

 

Once the kid was out of earshot, Monroe spoke. He still had enough decorum – just – that he wouldn’t get into an argument with another alpha while there was an audience. ‘You should not have interfered. This has nothing to do with you.’

 

Julian folded his arms in irritation. ‘It has everything to do with me. That boy is in my pack. He’s my charge and he’s my responsibility.’

 

Monroe spat out blood. ‘There’s not a single mark or bruise on him.’

 

‘That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. I have enough problems with his ego as it is. Now he’s going to think he’s stronger than you, that he’s more powerful than Monroe himself. I don’t need that kind of angst in my life. And Nero certainly doesn’t need that kind of belief. He’ll go around picking fights with everyone and he’ll end up getting himself killed.’

 

‘I’m not responsible for the actions of others,’ Monroe said. ‘Not any more. And if your pup is picking fights then he doesn’t belong here.’

 

Julian looked at him without speaking for several seconds. There was a time when there hadn’t been a single soul on this planet who would have dared to eyeball Monroe in such a fashion. Truth be told even now Julian, as alpha of the Yorkshire werewolves, was probably the only person who would dare. Still, it was a mark of how times had changed.

 

When Julian did speak, his voice was low and without emotion. ‘You are throwing your toys out of the pram.’

 

Genuine anger lit Monroe’s face. ‘You dare to equate the loss of my entire pack to having a tantrum?’

 

Julian’s expression didn’t alter. ‘I’m not talking about your pack. What happened to them was a tragedy. I’m talking about you. You told us to settle here, away from the others. You promised safety and a new society.’

 

‘No one’s died,’ Monroe snapped. ‘Not recently anyway. And we have a society.’

 

‘Such as it is.’

 

‘Not everything is on my shoulders.’

 

Julian raised his hands, palms facing outwards. ‘Exactly. You’re hurt. I get that. You think everything that brought us here is your fault. Whether that’s true or not isn’t for me to say. But you have a responsibility to pull yourself together. We came here because of you, Monroe. We need you.’

 

‘You came here because the magic in the atmosphere suits our kind. I had nothing to do with it.’

 

‘Now you’re being facetious. We came to Manchester for the magic. We settled here in the north because you persuaded us to. You promised lots and you’ve delivered very little. Not in the last few weeks, anyway. If you want to cry at night that is up to you, but you cannot pull others into your grief. This won’t wash.’

 

‘This is my city,’ Monroe said. ‘This is my community.’

 

‘Start acting like it is, then.’

 

Monroe stared him down. ‘What exactly,’ he asked icily, ‘are you saying?’

 

‘Sort yourself out,’ the other werewolf replied. ‘Or there’s no place for you here.’ And with that, he turned on his heel and walked out.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, Monroe was on his fourth whisky. It was perhaps indicative of the British that, even with the aftermath of a three-month-old apocalypse to deal with and a lack of normalised infrastructure, several bars and clubs had already opened up in this part of Manchester. Whether there were any in the southern part of the city, Monroe couldn’t say for sure. He was fairly certain that there would be, though, even if they weren’t frequented by the werewolves and vampires that hung around this one.

 

‘Hello darling,’ drawled a familiar voice.

 

Monroe didn’t bother turning round. ‘What do you want?’

 

‘G and T, of course. I’d give my right fang if it included ice and a slice. Unfortunately,’ Julie said with a light laugh, ‘I fear those days are gone.’

 

‘There’s still a single exit point out of the city,’ Monroe grunted. ‘You are more than welcome to depart that way whenever you choose. Leave, and you’ll be able to get all the ice and lemon that your heart desires.’

 

‘Except then I wouldn’t be able to get back into Manchester, would I? Although I’m sure that would delight you.’

 

‘You can do whatever you want. I don’t care.’

 

She hissed through her teeth. ‘Except you should care, darling. A couple of months ago you’d have happily chopped off my head.’

 

‘You’d have deserved it.’

 

Julie shrugged, although there was a darkness to her expression. ‘I’m not denying that.’

 

He swung his head towards her and gave her a long, measured look. ‘So you’re finally owning up to your part in all this? In the magical collapse of an entire city?’

 

Julie looked away. ‘I always did,’ she answered softly. ‘And I am trying to make amends.’

 

‘Then do so away from here.’

 

Her mouth curved into a sad smile. ‘Except that here appears to be where I am most needed.’

 

‘I don’t need you.’

 

‘No,’ she said mildly, ‘but you do need something. Or rather someone.’ She paused. ‘Charley has been struggling lately.’

 

‘What Charlotte does is nothing to do with me.’ Monroe took another sip of his drink, rolling the heavy glass in his hands. ‘Is she alright?’ His voice remained casual but his body was unnaturally still as he waited for the answer.

 

‘She’s taken a lot on her shoulders,’ Julie said. ‘And there’s a lot of pressure on her to keep her new little community going.’

 

‘Then perhaps you should be there helping her.’

 

‘Perhaps,’ Julie retorted, ‘it’s not me who she needs.’

 

Monroe inhaled deeply, holding the breath in his lungs for several seconds before exhaling. ‘You seem to have lots of opinions about what other people need.’

 

‘I’m smarter than I look.’

 

He snorted. ‘I doubt that.’

 

Julie reached behind her, taking a tall glass from another punter and admonishing him with a stern wag of her finger before he could complain. Then she tossed the contents in Monroe’s face.

 

He sprang to his feet, knocking over his bar stool as he spun round to face her with his fists clenched. ‘I wouldn’t normally hit a woman,’ he snarled, ‘but you’re a vampire. That makes you fair game.’

 

‘Stop with the hissy fit,’ she dismissed. ‘I had to do something to get your attention. You’re falling apart at the seams, Monroe. You were fine and coping when you had something to focus on. Now your little community is finding its feet, you’re adrift. You’re letting your grief get the better of you. You’re heading for collapse and, sooner or later, so will Charley. I understand why you’ve set up separate enclaves but the pair of you need to stop avoiding each other if this new Manchester is going to survive. The north needs you and the south needs her. If you’re not going to sort yourself out for the people who are here, then sort yourself out for her before she burns out. You don’t need more on your conscience than you already have.’

 

Monroe took a napkin from the counter and wiped the worst of the liquid from his face. ‘What Charlotte does is not my business.’

 

‘Keep telling yourself that,’ Julie murmured, ‘and you’ll soon be an even better liar than I am.’

 

The door to the pub jangled and two new customers walked in, their eyes landing almost instantly on Julie. Their unnatural pallor and close-mouthed expressions marked them immediately as vampires. Both of them had a vaguely dangerous air, although the taller vamp’s Metallica T-shirt somewhat dampened down the threat of his companion, whose scarred face told of promised threats and perilous risk.

 

Julie’s face paled slightly but she shook out her hair defiantly and sniffed. ‘I have to go. There are several people in here who are about to bounce up and ask me for my autograph and frankly, darling, I can’t be arsed with that.’ She gave Monroe a meaningful look. ‘Be a good little werewolf and go and see Charley, even if it’s for her sake rather than your own.’ She whirled out, giving the other vampires as wide a berth as possible.

 

Monroe glowered into his empty glass. By all accounts, Charlotte was doing perfectly well without him. And sooner or later, the north would do perfectly well without him too. Setting up here and taking charge had seemed like an excellent idea a few months ago; now he simply couldn’t be arsed. It was time everyone took responsibility for themselves instead of looking to others to sort out their problems.

 

He pushed away the glass and walked to the door, flinging it open with more force than he’d intended. It crashed against its frame but he ignored it and stepped outside. Dawn was already here and the first few rays of winter sunshine were hitting the quiet street. He pursed his lips and strode over to the nearest sunbeam, raising his head slightly and sniffing. He stayed there for a moment, letting the weak warmth wash over him.

 

Maybe the vampire actress had a point. It wouldn’t hurt to make sure Charlotte was alright. Besides, no matter what else was going on with life, sunshine always smelled good.

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

‘The taps are spouting blood again, Charley.’ There was a glint of delight in Cath’s eyes as she declared this unwholesome little titbit. ‘Very skeevy.’

 

I sighed and pushed back my hair. ‘I thought that was all sorted by now.’

 

‘Guess not.’ She grinned at me. ‘At least Julie will be happy.’

 

I grimaced. I had a sudden vision of the soap actress cum vampire with her head tilted over a sink and her mouth wide open as she gulped down sticky red ooze. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant image, although I supposed that at least it would stop her temporarily from skipping over to the northern side of the city every couple of nights to feed her hunger pangs. Every time she went, I couldn’t stop myself worrying about what she was up to – or who she might be hurting. She treated the northern community like some sort of blood bank. I should have been pleased that she wasn’t bloodying up my doorstep but unfortunately my imagination conjured all sorts of unpleasant scenarios about what she was up to when I couldn’t see her.

 

The front door banged open and Albert, an older gentleman who had taken up residence a couple of streets away, came in. He whacked his cane against the walls as he stomped towards us. The kilt he insisted on wearing, despite his lack of Scottish ancestry, was swinging from side to side. ‘Blood,’ he snapped. ‘Taps.’ He glared at me. ‘Fix it.’

 

I gestured at Cath. ‘I only just found out about it. I’ll try and sort it as soon as I can.’

 

Albert waggled his bushy eyebrows at me, conveying that I had better get a move on and solve the problem immediately, then he huffed and stormed out again, nearly colliding with Jodie who was on her way in. I sent myself a brief, happy thought of the pre-magical apocalypse days when people didn’t barge into my house without so much as knocking first and raised a hand to her in greeting.

 

‘Red shit is coming out of the taps again,’ she said without preamble.

 

‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘I’ve heard.’ It wasn’t the worst thing that had happened in the three months since the British government had built their walls and closed off the wild magic of Manchester from the rest of the world – but it was bloody irritating. Especially given the trouble we’d gone to in order to maintain running water in the first place. The last thing we needed was overflowing sewage and outbreaks of cholera on top of everything else. And it was nice to be able to get clean, even if hot water was nothing more than a dim memory.

 

Jodie crossed her arms and stared at me as if it were all my fault. ‘I wanted to wash my hair. Anna was going to do the laundry.’

 

Lizzy appeared from behind Jodie. Her normally blonde locks were dripping with bright red ooze. ‘The taps…’

 

‘Yeah, I got it,’ I said drily. ‘I’m about to head over to the reservoir.’

 

‘I’ll come with you.’

 

I shook my head. The blood clinging to her skin and hair would only attract predators. Her company would be more hassle than it was worth. ‘You get yourself cleaned up,’ I said, not unkindly. ‘I’ll deal with it.’

 

Lizzy looked relieved more than anything else. I didn’t blame her; last time it took several hours of muttering nonsensical incantations and waving my hands around before I fixed the problem. Even then I couldn’t say what I did to clear up the water, so goodness only knew what it would take this time.

 

I still didn’t have a proper handle on the magical powers that had been bestowed on me after I’d spent the night curled up with the little sphere that a crazy faery had planted on me – and which had almost caused the destruction of the entire world. You’ve heard of a learning curve? Well, as far as magic was concerned, this was a learning cliff face and I didn’t possess so much as a single rope.

 

I grabbed my handy backpack, which these days always sat by the front door ready for the emergencies that seemed to occur on an hourly basis, and scooted past the small assembly. I took care not to brush past Lizzy on my way out and end up plastered in the same gunk that she was.

 

Jodie called out after me, ‘If you could make the water drinkable this time, that’d be fab.’

 

Unlikely. I’d try my best though – and everyone loves a trier. Or so I liked to pretend. I gritted my teeth, steeled myself against the growing lump of cold lead that seemed to be constantly expanding in my belly, and closed the door behind me.

 

* * *

 

I took a bike. There were still plenty of cars lying around with usable petrol in their engines but these days it was usually faster and more convenient to cycle. Teams of people had been clearing the roads of abandoned cars for weeks and, for the most part, they’d done a grand job. It was getting to the point where the stationary vehicles were looking less like forlorn reminders of all that we’d lost and more like relics from a bygone age. All the same, I couldn’t stop myself feeling a twinge when I passed the odd car with a tree sprouting through its roof. Every month Mother Nature had a growth spurt and the trees and bushes stretched upwards and outwards by another few feet. Winter might have been almost upon us but no one had told the trees.

 

Thankfully my journey was uneventful. I caught sight of the odd passing shadow, indicating that I was being watched by a few of the magical creatures that had appeared from nowhere to inhabit this new world. Shadow beasts, hell hounds, giant rats, mammoth pink elephants, swampy canal monsters. There was no end to the nasties that lived in Manchester these days. Right now we were working on a live-and-let-live theory: if they left us alone, we would do the same. It worked most of the time. I pretended not to notice anything out of the ordinary and pedalled slightly faster. Every day I wasn’t chomped on by a monster was a good day.

 

When I finally arrived at my destination, I propped the bike against a wall by the main waterworks building next to the old reservoir and craned my neck upwards. I couldn’t see anything malevolent or dangerous. In fact, I couldn’t see much at all.

 

‘What’s the betting,’ I muttered to myself, ‘that whatever magical beastie is causing all this crap is hiding somewhere and laughing at me?’ I wrinkled my nose. ‘Three to one. Easy.’

 

‘You know that talking to yourself is the first sign of madness,’ drawled a familiar Scottish brogue.

 

I half-jumped out of my skin and spun in Monroe’s direction. I’d barely seen him for weeks. We’d met up a few times initially, and he’d given me some basic fighting lessons as he’d promised, but they were a distant memory. We’d both become too busy doing other things. The fact that he’d decided to show up here could only mean that his half of the city was also affected by the water problems – and that for once he actually gave a shit.

 

I wanted to be able to say that he was looking good, but there were heavy dark shadows under his eyes and faint bruises across his jawline. Given what I’d learned about the fast recovery time of werewolves, he must have taken a hell of a beating in the last few days to still be showing the effects. Worry flickered through my belly, although I knew he wouldn’t thank me for the sentiment.

 

‘Been in a fight?’ I asked, trying to sound casual.

 

Monroe ignored my question and walked over, stopping a few centimetres before our bodies touched. ‘How have you been, Charlotte?’ He tilted his head towards mine and inhaled. ‘You smell good.’