Dark City (The Order of Shadows Book 1) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Kit Hallows
gleam.
"Happy birthday," I mumbled. There was a bottle of bourbon waiting at the apartment, and sleep wouldn't be too far behind.
Or so I thought.
4
T he cab pulled up outside the old Victorian house I called home. Well, the top floor at least. The battered old taxi looked distinctly out of place nestled amongst the sleek Audis and BMWs parked along the street.
I paid the driver, then waited for him to leave before slipping through the gate and up the flight of wide steps that led to the house. I'd been living here for the best part of a year, but it still amazes me that this is my home. For most of my life my only reason for being anywhere near a nice leafy street like this was to visit clients.
Clients like my landlady, Mrs. Lyra Fitz. I'd met her while moonlighting as Morgan Rook; part-time spiritualist, exorcist and banisher of bad spirits.
Lyra had a particularly nasty problem with a poltergeist in the cellar, and a banshee in the attic. Yeah, she'd really hit the supernatural lottery that year, but it wasn't surprising. Spirits, pucks and spooks were attracted by Lyra's gift , as well as that underlying touch of madness she could never quite disguise.
I drove out the unwanted guests and she repaid me by renovating the attic and letting me move in, virtually rent free. Given the cost of living in this city and the paltry wages the Organization paid, this was a godsend. It also made me both lodger and caretaker when it came to clearing the premise of any supernatural entities, oddities or occasional insanities.
I slid my key almost soundlessly into the front door and made my way up the flight of plushly carpeted stairs as the gentle strains of Erik Satie's 'Nocturne no 1' chimed from Lyra's apartment.
For a moment, I thought I might make it past without her noticing, but a shadow fell across the gap under her door.
The stairs leading to my apartment were so close. If I could just reach...
Click.
The door opened and Lyra appeared. She leaned against the frame, as if posing for a photograph. She looked up at me, elegant even in her bath robe. The shadows accentuated her cut-glass cheekbones and the long silvery blonde hair that was piled high upon her head.
"There you are." Her pince-nez glasses flashed over her azure eyes.
"Here I am." I nodded to the stairs. "I'm just going to-"
"You look terrible, Mr. Rook. And you're hurt!"
I rubbed the bruises on the side of my face. "It's nothing-"
"They're at it again." Lyra stared at me with that singularly unnerving gaze. "The cats." She shook her head. "Plotting."
According to Lyra Fitz the entire planet's controlled by cats. And rather than accept her gift of clairvoyance and second sight, she planted the blame of all visions and odd occurrences squarely upon a feline New World Order. Naturally this was a perfect soup of insanity.
"They must be having a convention," she said.
"A cat convention?"
Lyra narrowed her eyes, as if trying to work out if I was mocking her. I wasn't. I was humoring her.
"The streets were packed full of cats this afternoon. Did you see them? I've never seen so much fur in one day, not since Beijing. They're bringing me nightmares." She shook her head. "Ghastly nightmares."
Now this caught my interest. On top of being a very gifted empath, Lyra often has prophetic dreams, and more than a few have been helpful in my investigations. "Nightmares?" I tried to keep my voice as casual as possible.
Her painted eyebrows rose up and she gripped the doorframe with her porcelain-like hand. "I dreamt of a house on a hill, where endless smoke spilled from a canvas. Behind it was a deep black hole."
I did my best to contain the growing unease passing through me and remained silent as I waited for her to continue.
"The black hole pulled everything into it, the earth, the stars, the planets. It smashed them together until they were nothing but dust. And standing behind it all was a man. He waited in the shadows. I could barely see him. His face.
"Happy birthday," I mumbled. There was a bottle of bourbon waiting at the apartment, and sleep wouldn't be too far behind.
Or so I thought.
4
T he cab pulled up outside the old Victorian house I called home. Well, the top floor at least. The battered old taxi looked distinctly out of place nestled amongst the sleek Audis and BMWs parked along the street.
I paid the driver, then waited for him to leave before slipping through the gate and up the flight of wide steps that led to the house. I'd been living here for the best part of a year, but it still amazes me that this is my home. For most of my life my only reason for being anywhere near a nice leafy street like this was to visit clients.
Clients like my landlady, Mrs. Lyra Fitz. I'd met her while moonlighting as Morgan Rook; part-time spiritualist, exorcist and banisher of bad spirits.
Lyra had a particularly nasty problem with a poltergeist in the cellar, and a banshee in the attic. Yeah, she'd really hit the supernatural lottery that year, but it wasn't surprising. Spirits, pucks and spooks were attracted by Lyra's gift , as well as that underlying touch of madness she could never quite disguise.
I drove out the unwanted guests and she repaid me by renovating the attic and letting me move in, virtually rent free. Given the cost of living in this city and the paltry wages the Organization paid, this was a godsend. It also made me both lodger and caretaker when it came to clearing the premise of any supernatural entities, oddities or occasional insanities.
I slid my key almost soundlessly into the front door and made my way up the flight of plushly carpeted stairs as the gentle strains of Erik Satie's 'Nocturne no 1' chimed from Lyra's apartment.
For a moment, I thought I might make it past without her noticing, but a shadow fell across the gap under her door.
The stairs leading to my apartment were so close. If I could just reach...
Click.
The door opened and Lyra appeared. She leaned against the frame, as if posing for a photograph. She looked up at me, elegant even in her bath robe. The shadows accentuated her cut-glass cheekbones and the long silvery blonde hair that was piled high upon her head.
"There you are." Her pince-nez glasses flashed over her azure eyes.
"Here I am." I nodded to the stairs. "I'm just going to-"
"You look terrible, Mr. Rook. And you're hurt!"
I rubbed the bruises on the side of my face. "It's nothing-"
"They're at it again." Lyra stared at me with that singularly unnerving gaze. "The cats." She shook her head. "Plotting."
According to Lyra Fitz the entire planet's controlled by cats. And rather than accept her gift of clairvoyance and second sight, she planted the blame of all visions and odd occurrences squarely upon a feline New World Order. Naturally this was a perfect soup of insanity.
"They must be having a convention," she said.
"A cat convention?"
Lyra narrowed her eyes, as if trying to work out if I was mocking her. I wasn't. I was humoring her.
"The streets were packed full of cats this afternoon. Did you see them? I've never seen so much fur in one day, not since Beijing. They're bringing me nightmares." She shook her head. "Ghastly nightmares."
Now this caught my interest. On top of being a very gifted empath, Lyra often has prophetic dreams, and more than a few have been helpful in my investigations. "Nightmares?" I tried to keep my voice as casual as possible.
Her painted eyebrows rose up and she gripped the doorframe with her porcelain-like hand. "I dreamt of a house on a hill, where endless smoke spilled from a canvas. Behind it was a deep black hole."
I did my best to contain the growing unease passing through me and remained silent as I waited for her to continue.
"The black hole pulled everything into it, the earth, the stars, the planets. It smashed them together until they were nothing but dust. And standing behind it all was a man. He waited in the shadows. I could barely see him. His face.
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