Part One can be found here

She was in Camden! She was miles from home, no Oyster card, no money, nothing. Also, no jacket. She scampered into the entrance to the tube and wrapped her arms around her, staring out into the rain. It was coming down in sheets, and she was drenched to the skin. She sniffed. This sucked, just, really sucked.

She could be at home, watching Potter musicals, eating pizza. But no, she had to run about like a hero, like she had some ability to do something. She wallowed. She was good at wallowing. Some days the world was out to get her, and other days, it just sucked, but either way, it was without a doubt, someone else’s fault. She sniffed.

OK, this was boring. Martin had come here, after leaving the Underworld. What had he meant by ‘an understanding?’ She should have read the meeting books thoroughly before she came here. She was so sure she was going to find him, and get her lessons, she hadn’t really thought about anything else. But the books would tell her something, something useful. Maybe.

She looked behind her at the barriers. She could jump them. She snorted, gaining funny looks from the people rushing past. She couldn’t jump anything, except maybe Johnny Depp’s bones. That was a weird expression, why bones? Then again, it seemed kinda fitting for Johnny.

Scarlet peered down Camden High Street, the lights of the market peering back through the rain. He was here, somewhere. Possibly. She tried to remember her lessons, and ignore the shivering. She should be able to see this stuff now. She slitted her eyes, and saw even less than before. This was stupid.

Scarlet rubbed her temples and tried to relax, lifting her shoulders up to her ears, and letting them drop, taking deep breaths. She looked again down the street, still gently rubbing her temples, and suddenly, she saw it. There were people rushing back and forth, but two of them stood out, lined in pale green light.

She gasped, staring at them. They looked no different, but they were, oh yeah they were. One came past her, glanced up, and gave her a nod, the slightest hint of a smile! She clenched her fists in front of her chest, like she’d just won Miss World. She could see them!

She was part of something, something, like, so much cooler than, well, anything else. She watched the other, walking away from her, until the strange green outline was lost amongst the rain. This was just so amazingly cool. She had to be careful, not geek out too much and embarrass herself. It would be like when she discovered someone at school who read Manga. She’d stalked her, like, completely, for weeks, until she couldn’t hold back and unleashed a torrent of fan-y geekness at her. Turned out Manga wasn’t quite such a big deal for that girl, and Scarlet had crept home and hidden for the next three days.

If Martin was here, he would show up, somehow. Would he be easier to see because she knew him? He’d said something like that, that she would begin to recognise certain auras. She took a deep breath, and stepped out into the storm.

The rain had lessened slightly, and only felt like someone emptying a bucket of water over her head. She was, at least, too wet to care now, and her t-shirt was black and in no way see through, which was a relief. She had to keep pulling it away from her waist, not that it made any difference, but most people were hurrying by, faces down, so they didn’t see anyway.

She headed over the bridge, glancing down into the murky waters of the canal. The shop fronts, decorated in giant shoes, and airplanes were lit up, showing like ghosts through the downpour. She’d only been here a couple of times, and it was so cool, even in the rain. To her right, as she came off the bridge, a tiny street led down between market stalls, and over the road, the stables…

A green hum lit the evening sky, like there were green strobes pointing up from the middle of the stables. He had to be in there. She dashed across the road, avoiding suicidal cyclists and in through the wooden gates. The smells attacked her stomach, chinese and indian, mexican and the old classic, fried chicken, all reminding her of how long it had been since she ate.

Staring in envy at the food stalls, she rounded the corner and gazed at the building that was lined with a patina of green light. How did no one else see it?

Closer inspection revealed it to be a concert venue, called Dingwalls. The doors were shut up, the lights off and she circled it, passing more inviting food stalls, steam rising up through the rain. She whimpered, turning away to focus on the hall.

She tried the front door, and it cracked open. Looking guiltily behind her, she slipped in and pulled the door closed. She was breathing hard and giggled. She could add breaking and entering to her rapidly growing CV, god this was so stupid.

She walked past the front desk, and through into the venue. It was small, tables lining the outsides, the stage forlorn and drab in the dark. The light was all around her, but she realised it grew fainter the higher up she looked. The floor beneath her feet was pulsing, and looking at it longer than a few seconds made her want to hurl.

Whatever she wanted, was down, down in the darkness, in the gloom and… what was it with people and going underground? Why couldn’t they all have nice, top-floor flats with good visibility and a well-marked emergency exit? Stomping around the venue, she found the door marked ‘NO ENTRY’ and, just for shits and giggles, entered.

A steep set of steps led her down into the darkness, the green glow stronger here, but casting as much shadow as it did illumination. The floor below was filled with dust, and old chairs and tables, and nothing remotely resembling a captured magician. She searched around, avoiding sticking her hands in anything too dirty.

Scarlet was close to giving up hope, or at least, shouting until someone appeared, when she found another door. This one was unmarked, but the handle was dust-free, and it opened silently. More stairs, deeper into the earth. She would have said deeper into hell, but at least there they had the good sense to be above ground.

It smelled of damp, and the air felt thick, as though she could scoop it up and hold it. It smelled old as well, like Grandad’s house, after he died. The floor beneath her feet was slightly sticky, and greedy for her shoes. She stepped slowly forward, shielding her eyes with one arm as the light grew ever brighter.

She rounded a corner, and before her lay possibly the last thing she’d expected to see. There were two sofas, and a large armchair, an old, metal stove bearing a kettle, and, each lit up like candles, three women.

Part One can be found here

She hadn’t done this one, not yet, but it needed no ingredients, and sounded impressive, and that was enough for now. Maybe. The others around the room were watching her, leant forward, arms resting on legs as they stared.

She was a performing monkey, or soon would be. And to think, she used to get nervous when she had to give a drama performance. Her hands were shaking as she lifted the spell book. This was no good, she wasn’t even going to be able to say the words properly.

She let the book drop, looking around at the eager, greedy faces. ‘OK, which one of you did the invites for this thing? I mean, really, these outfits, have you even used a mirror?’

That was better. She was met with a chorus of hisses and sneers, but no one got up, or challenged her, and she managed a weak smile. The guy on the throne was the real deal, whatever that meant, but these others? Wannabe was pretty close to the truth she reckoned.

She spoke the words, slowly, carefully, putting her weight behind it, just as Martin had taught her. She squeezed her eyes closed, as soon as she said the last word, and was pleased she did. She heard the gasps as light filled the room.

Holding the book up as a shield, she peered out through slitted eyelids. A ball of light, bright enough to make her eyes water, hung in the air before her. She stepped back, glancing around the room. Many of those hissing at her moments earlier were smiling and clapping. The few who had remained silent when the big man was holding court were still silent, watching her.

The big man himself was on his feet, applauding along with the rest, climbing down again from his throne. ‘Excellent, outstanding. It appears you are the entertainment after all. Not quite what I imagined, but entertaining nonetheless.’

He stepped closer and she got a whiff of him, the faintest scent of hospitals and burning rubber, hidden behind some nasty aftershave that made her nose wrinkle. He came around the light, a huge silhouette that blocked it out. She lowered the book and waited, hands on hips.

His voice was lower, no longer meant for the others in the room. ‘Who is your father, girl?’

She raised her eyebrows, ignoring the shaking in her legs. ‘The name’s Scarlet, man… thing. And actually, who my father is is none of your business.’ OK, that was stupid, just plain, mum-level stupid. She coughed. ‘Where is Martin?’

The big man rocked back on his heels, folding his arms before him. She strained to see his expression, but the light behind still painted his face in black shadow. He chuckled, the sound climbing up her back and stroking her neck so she squirmed. ‘You have spirit. I will know who your father is, and from where you came.’

‘No you won’t. And ‘from where I came?’ Really?’

The light was fading, just enough for her to see his forehead crease, massive eyebrows meeting above his clear eyes. They stared at one another for a moment, long enough for Scarlet to realise the room had gone silent. The others might not be able to hear, but they knew something was happening.

The shaking had become quite serious, and her palms were slippery against the cover of the book. She put it into her pocket, and put her hands back on her hips. The room was silent. This was like one of those awkward moments at a party, when she realised she didn’t have a clue what to say, or how to say it. Like all parties, then, really.

The big man’s face changed, like flipping channels, and he threw back his head and roared with laughter. The tension broke and she surreptitiously wiped her hands on her jeans, glancing around the room. He stopped abruptly, and spread his hands before him. ‘Martin isn’t here.’

What? ‘What? You said he’d come to visit, you said you’d let him go.’

Tears stung the corners of her eyes and she blinked them away, taking a step forward as she waved her finger at him. He shrugged. ‘You are in the Underworld. I would have thought the name might have given you some clue as to the honesty of its denizens.’

‘Huh?’

‘I lied.’

‘But, but… hang on, my spell brought me here, it said he was here.’

The man shook his head, smiling. ‘Spells can be tricksy, and unreliable. Martin was here, not so long ago, but he and I, we have an understanding now. Maybe this is the last place the spell could track him to.’

She stepped back, turning from the big man and staring into the darkness above the assembled watchers. What the hell was she doing here? She was sixteen, inept at pretty much everything except social media and quoting Harry Potter, so what was she going to achieve? Everyone here was older than her, by quite a long way.

She turned back to him, grinding her teeth together. ‘Would it have hurt you to just tell me the truth?’

The big man rocked his head side to side. ‘In truth, perhaps not, but then I would not have known whether your tales of being a magician were true. Martin is teaching someone…’

He trailed off, still watching her with that amused air that made her want to punch him, like, really hard. What a dick. She pulled the book out and turned back to the rescue spell. Perhaps she just hadn’t thought about him hard enough.

She realised, with a sinking heart, that she had no ingredients with her. She couldn’t do it, even if she wanted to. The big man was still watching her, one chunky eyebrow higher than the other. She glared at him. ‘How do I get out of here?’

For a second, she thought he was going to laugh again, and she swallowed hard, the tears threatening once more. Instead, he nodded. ‘I can help you with that. Where would you like to go?’

‘I need to find Martin.’

‘Well, perhaps he did mention where he was heading when he left here. Let me see…’

He didn’t say anything, but a bright light appeared before her and she took a step toward it. His voice chased her from the Underworld. ‘Such a pleasure to meet you, Scarlet. A word to the wise, be careful in who you give your name to, not everyone is as kind as I am.’

She stepped through, and into the driving rain. The clouds of earlier had lived up to their promise and she could barely see the lights that blurred before her eyes, barely see anything but the wall of water. She turned slowly, looking for something she recognised, and froze, staring in amazement at Camden Town Tube Station.

Part One can be found here

It was a Dumbledore sort of voice, only with, like, added bass, and a history of child abuse. Scarlet spun around, staring about her, hands flapping like there were spider webs around her. She took a deep breath, trying a smile on as he asked again.

‘Have you come to amuse us? You look young enough, if a little pale.’

‘Who are you?’

His chuckle was worse than his voice, and she shuddered. Where was Martin? Where the hell was she? And why was this paedophilic freak acting like she was some kind of exotic dancer. Her face was burning red and she covered them with her hands as the lights rose.

She was standing in a huge room, the ceiling far above her, and covered in white and gold patterns. All around her were people, men and women, dressed in what she could only describe as ‘magic-user wannabe chic’.

There were robes, real robes, big heavy things in purple and red and black, lined with fur. There was a lot of skin tight leather, and PVC. Actually, far more than she’d ever wanted to see in her lifetime. There were guys with far more hair than was healthy, and girls with none at all, and an inordinate number of people wearing sunglasses indoors. It was like the Blade film, only without Blade. Maybe she was Blade.

Maybe she was completely mad, and about to die. The man who had spoken stood, and she took a step back, involuntarily, her laughter dieing in her throat. He was big, tall and wide and imposing, and wearing very little. She thought it was called a loin cloth, but it was the scales covering the rest of him that made her cringe.

He was a sort of silvery-grey, like a fish left to dry out in the sun, and as he stepped down from the what, throne? Yeah, it was carved, and had these gold patterns all over it, it was a throne. As he stepped toward her, the scales moved, like loose skin shifting over old bones. They reached his face, where sharp features were drawn together by a pair of piercing green eyes and a hooked nose.

He came closer and she tried to step away, but she was frozen now, her feet refusing to budge an inch. How was there something worse on earth, than a demon was in hell? Actually, earth had both X-Factor and Big Brother, so that answered that.

‘You are in the Underworld, little girl, deep beneath the city. The question I would ask in return, if you aren’t the entertainment, which I will admit saddens me, is why are you here?’

She had to stop shaking, her voice couldn’t tremble, she couldn’t show how scared she was. ‘I, I, I,’ Oh, great start, Scarlet, really, good one. She took a deep breath.

‘I’ve come to get Martin.’

The man threw back his head and laughed, the nasty chuckle of earlier transformed into a roar that filled the vast space. The others sat around the room joined in, slapping thighs and pointing at her as if she’d said the funniest thing. She couldn’t help noticing that the laughter felt, in most cases, forced and a bit desperate. She also noticed the few who didn’t join in, those quiet ones who just sat and watched.

He stopped laughing and turned back to her. ‘We’ve waited a long time for Martin to pay us a visit. Why on earth, or under it for that matter, would I let you take him away?’

That was an excellent question. Unfortunately she didn’t have the first idea what the answer was. Well, mum always said be honest, and there was a first time for everything. ‘He’s teaching me to use magic, and I’ve missed two lessons, and that’s far too many.’

The man was staring at her, eyebrows raised. ‘Martin is teaching you? Well, this is interesting, is it not?’

He straightened, holding his hands up for the others around the room to murmur in agreement. ‘Are you sure he’s teaching you? He’s not just inviting you over in the hope of someday taking advantage of your young body?’

The man leant close in, his thin-lipped mouth curling in a sneer that made sweat break out across her forehead. She shook her head, not trusting her voice to work properly. The man/thing, whatever it was, nodded, straightening again. ‘Well, that is intriguing. Show me some magic, little girl. Show me some magic and I might consider letting Martin go.’

He stepped back, up the steps, and settled himself into the throne. He steepled his hands, resting his chin lightly on his outstretched fingers, and peered down at her. She stared back at him for a moment, then pulled the spell book out. This was it, really, this was as close to a magic exam as she was going to get.

She cracked it open and thumbed rapidly through the pages. She had one chance to do something impressive, to scare this guy into doing what she wanted. Then she found it.

For the destruction of darkness, the brightest light. 

Part One can be found here

The steps came into the bedroom, the soft tapping of heels on concrete, and Scarlet took a deep breath, holding it in case they could hear her. Six weeks ago, she’d faced down a demon in hell, and here she was cowering beneath a bed in some scuzzy estate in west London. It was worse, here, somehow. In Hell, she’d been fighting for her mum, and Martin had been with her. Unconscious, yes, but present just the same.

But Martin wasn’t here now, and based on what those two had said, he’d been taken somewhere, by someone. Maybe if she listened hard, and didn’t wet herself from fear, they might tell her where he’d been taken.

They were turning the place upside down, ripping apart anything the last searchers had left. There wasn’t much though, and in only a few minutes, the second joined the first in the bedroom. There was even less in here and soon one grabbed the mattress, heaving it into the air.

He stared down at Scarlet, but his eyes never blinked, and he dropped it again, leaving her wide-eyed and panting. What the hell had just happened? She looked down at herself. Yep, definitely here, and hard to miss.

The two stomped back out into the other room, one sniffing almost constantly. ‘There’s magic ‘ere.’

‘Of course there is, this is Martin we’re talking about. You know his history, of course?’

A moment’s silence, in which Scarlet could clearly hear the Londoner deciding whether to admit his ignorance, or play it cool. Surprisingly, he came clean, which was awesome. Maybe she’d actually find something out about him now.

‘Nah, not really. Just know the name. Why, who is-e?’

Another moment of silence, and without ever even seeing him, she knew she wanted to punch the American. The sound of his voice was just as she suspected, knowing and smug. ‘Martin was one of the Council, high up, in his time. Then, well, you know, the thing happened with his wife, and he went a little… crazy. Started accusing all sorts of all sorts of things. Wasn’t popular, not at all, so out he went.’

The American paused, and Scarlet could imagine him crossing his arms, leaning against a wall, wanting the other man to ask him more. When nothing was forthcoming, he continued anyway. ‘They let him be, until the files went missing. Now, well, now we have to find him.’

‘If who we think’s got ‘im, ‘as, how do you propose we do that?’

More silence. Who do you think’s got ‘im? Him? Whatever, come on, say it, say it.

‘It could be anyone in the Underworld, and any one of them has every reason to avoid us like the plague, so your guess is as good as mine.’

The Londoner sniffed, kicked something that slammed against the wall and made her jump, and walked out. The American followed him, and she gasped out a breath. The footsteps paused, and she winced, screwing up her eyes and toes, waiting. Eventually, they resumed and the squat fell quiet.

She waited, another ten minutes or so, just to be sure. And another five, you know, just in case. Finally, she pulled herself out from under the bed, and leant against the wall, taking deep breaths. What was the Underworld and why did it make her skin crawl? For that matter, who were the Council, and what had they done to Martin’s wife?

She had more questions now, and not enough answers to go round. More importantly, she still didn’t have a clue where Martin was. She pulled the spell book out, and thumbed through until she found the spell.

For the rescuing of those trapped.

Seemed a good a bet as any. She read down the ingredients list. He should have it all here, there wasn’t anything unusual. She crept out into the other room, still expecting the two men to reappear at any moment, and gathered together what she needed from the stuff strewn around the floor. She was getting better at this, and soon it was laid out, the symbols drawn on the concrete, the pungent sage making her nose tickle as the smoke filled the room.

She should possibly think about this, before she did it.

OK, that was enough.

She cleared her throat, and said the words, and stepped through the bright light.

The floor was solid this time, stone or concrete, something other than spongy and gross. It was dark, darker than she would have ideally liked, given the things she could hear. She was about to pull out her phone, when a voice boomed through the darkness.

‘Welcome, little girl. Tell me, are you the entertainment?’

Part One can be found here

It was a kidnap, it had to be. Why was it called a kidnap? There were no kids involved, and napping was, like, one of her favourite things. This was neither snoozy, nor fun.

She dug through the mess, trying to pile things up, make sense of what had happened. Whoever had been here had been looking for something, or somethings. Had they found it? The entire place was trashed, so maybe not.

Scarlet had only been coming here for a month or so, but that was several times a week, and enough for her to spot Martin fiddling with the mirror that still hung over his desk, a jagged crack now running through it.

She pulled gently at it, surprised it was still in place. It was fixed firmly to the wall, and didn’t budge when she tried harder. All the mirrors at home were held on with, like, these tiny little clips that meant if someone closed the door too hard they fell off the wall. Wasn’t it just a touch suspicious that this one, in a squat no less, was superglued on?

That could mean the people who came here were pretty stupid, or it could mean they were trashing the place for fun, and weren’t looking for anything at all. Either way, she thought what lay behind it was probably worth taking a look at.

She hauled the desk back onto its legs, and shoved it over against the wall. Kneeling carefully, she peered around the side of the mirror, running her finger around it. She was two thirds of the way round when she heard the click.

Scrambling back, grinning and nodding to herself, and wondering where all the tossers in school who laughed at her were, when she did something cool, she watched the mirror swing open. Behind was a small cubby, containing three books, which Scarlet grabbed, before dropping down onto the floor.

One of the cushions was still intact, buried beneath a stack of paper, and she placed it against the wall, turning the books up the right way and examining them as she sat.

‘The Council.

Minutes and meeting records, 2011/12’

She opened it at a random page, flicking quickly through pages in which someone said this, and someone else said this, and a resolution was passed, and lots of outstandingly boring stuff happened. The next book was the same, only 2010/11, and the last 2009/10. She had the set. Woo.

Had they been looking for these? And if so, why? Minutes of meetings, or what she now knew of them, were boring, and entirely useless. Unless they said something incriminating… she sighed, looking at the books again, and speaking to the empty room.

‘Really? First Wuthering Heights, and now this…’

She shook her head, went back to 2009, and began to read. Within the first few minutes, she’d realised two things. The first, was that the Council wasn’t the people who mended the roads, but something else entirely. The second was that whoever they were, they were making decisions she thought the government usually made, or possibly people more important than the government, like The Queen, or the people who did the TV programming.

She kept reading, losing herself in debates over what should be done with a certain part of London, or whether a new policy for handling politicians was necessary. She was drawn from her reverie by a noise, like metal scraping across concrete. In her mind’s eye, she saw the bin door, opened too far and dragging across the pavement.

She was up, shoving the books back behind the mirror and pushing it closed, her heart hammering. There was nowhere to hide in here, just the room, and the bed… of course. She ran into the bedroom, a box just large enough to hold the single bed that lay there. The mattress was in a similar state to the sofa, but you couldn’t see through it, and she dropped to the ground, grunting as her knee caught the side of the frame.

She wiggled, getting beneath it, and lay still, panting quietly, heart thumping so loud whoever was coming was sure to hear. The door slammed, and voices reached her, followed rapidly by footsteps.

‘We’re late, we’re too bloody late.’

‘Not necessarily. Let’s just have a look, shall we?’

The first speaker hissed, foot steps coming to a stop just outside the bedroom. He was a Londoner, through and through. ‘Alex, please, just ‘ave a look around, will ya? They did a good job of it, they’ve got ‘im, and the books, so let’s not waste our time.’

The other man, still speaking slowly, as if to a child, was American, and sounded rich. ‘Please, just, calm yourself. Yes, they’ve certainly got him, but the books, I’m not so sure. Perhaps we just need to search a little more thoroughly.’

His voice grew louder, and she could imagine his face, tanned and smug as he peeked into the bedroom. She crossed her legs, swallowing hard as the sounds of papers and books being tossed about came from the other room.

Today sucked. Same abuse coming home on the bus. She could have walked, avoided the whole thing, but that would have meant walking. She could handle a few names. School had been suitably boring, typically pointless. Worse than all that, though, was that it had been almost a week since she’d done any magic.

That was wrong. That was worse than facebook and tumblr crashing on the same day, not like that was ever going to happen, that couldn’t happen, it just wouldn’t, they’d have, like, safeguards and stuff, people on hand to make sure it didn’t.

She wiped the sweat from her brow as she opened the front door and crept in. The mindless drone from the TV filled the house, and she tiptoed past the lounge and up the stairs before mum could feel the cold draft from outside.

The bed sunk beneath her like the welcome from an old friend. Which it was. The phrase ‘only friend’ bobbled up in her mind but she shoved it down and seized her computer from her bedside table with a triumphant smile. She had friends. That none of them lived within a thousand miles of her was irrelevant. And there was always Martin.

She wasn’t sure what he was. He certainly wasn’t a friend, not like that, but he wasn’t Dad either. Far too smart, and sober, and magical. Though right now, he was doing the absent thing very well. She sniffed, gazing around the room, at the wall paper that had seemed so dated over the last month or so.

Nothing like going to hell to make the Little Mermaid feel a teensy bit lame.

This was no good. She’d missed two lessons already, and he hadn’t so much as texted. Did he have a phone? Would he know how to use one if he did? She dumped the computer back on the table and stood, changing her uniform for some jeans and a baggy t-shirt.

She sneaked downstairs, checking her jacket pocket at least seven times to make sure the spell book was there, and headed out the front door. Through the estate, past the shops, and up into the nasty part of town. She hadn’t yet actually seen anything that made it nastier than her part of town, but it was rundown enough to house a squat or two, which was where Martin spent his time.

Scarlet had asked him, more than once, why he lived in squalor, when he could easily find somewhere nicer, but just like when she’d asked him why he helped people, he’d just shaken his head, and told her ‘somethings are not spoken of, particularly between a mage and his apprentice’. To which, she, of course, had asked him when she had become anyone’s apprentice, and he’d gone rambling off on some learning point and she’d forgotten the original question.

It seemed important again now, though. The clouds were gathering, angry dirt-grey barely higher than the blocks of flats, and the winter wind kept grabbing at her coat and trying to pull her along. The park was empty, the swings screeching at her as she passed, and she picked up the pace.

She couldn’t run though. Anyone saw her running and she’d look weak, next thing, they’d take her phone and maybe the book. Most of these neanderthals couldn’t read, but they’d take it anyway, just cos.

She pulled the bin door open, slipping into the darkness beyond, relieved for once to be inside with the stench of ancient filth and out of sight of the eyes she’d felt on her as she walked. It wasn’t just the wind giving her the creeps, something was going on.

Martin had said her instincts would improve, that she’d notice more and more of the world that lay behind the real one. So far, she was pretty certain that Miss Lynch at school used some kind of calming spell in her classroom. Scarlet itched every time she went in there, and even the most rabid of her classmates became strange, docile, puppies.

She climbed up the steps, hauled open the hatch and scrambled up, trying not to touch anything. She emerged into Martin’s home, and gasped. It was a right state. It was always a state, but not as bad as this. His sofa had been ripped apart, literally, torn to shreds, little flecks of white foam dusting every surface.

His table was overturned, the walls filled with diagrams she didn’t understand, had been trashed, and Martin was nowhere in sight.