The flat was in Kentish Town.
It was owned by a woman called Frances (Hello, Frances) who had “the most amazing story about this alchemist called Bill who used to manufacture these enchanted bracelets in Hunan province and then the gnomes got wind of it and we had to flee via Kuala Lumpur to collect on the insurance and I’ve still got some of them here but obviously the actual master bracelet was sold for £1.99 in Brixton Market and now we’re not quite sure where it’s got to but we think a girl called Alice has it and that’s kind of a problem because no one knows where Alice is, so actually I guess the story isn’t that amazing because if we don’t get them back then that’s the mid-Atlantic rift gone for starters…”
–and her more taciturn boyfriend, Raymond.
In the decor of the flat two competing wills had met, fought and ground each other to a draw. In the living room, with its view of a communal garden containing one swing and a broken trampoline, someone with a love of everyone and everything had laid down soft carpets, purple pillows, padded chairs and scented candles. Meanwhile in a former cupboard, now labelled STEEL GREEN ELECTRONICS, a less sociable character had made it a life mission not only to collect hammers, but different types of hammer for very different types of nail. Because you may not think it’s important now. But just you wait for when you need to fix the kitchen in a hurry, then we’ll see who’s laughing…
The kitchen was barely large enough to hold the grey fridge and greasy hob, above which someone had stuck a sign demanding TURN THE GAS OFF IDIOT!
It was most definitely not large enough to hold the four people who currently occupied it, none of whom were actually the owners of the property. Rhys, in blue dressing gown and borrowed pyjamas, leaned on Sharon’s arm in the doorway and tried not to gape.
A goblin sat cross-legged on the kitchen table; he was licking the end of a tube of toothpaste with a foul grey tongue. The fridge door hung open, and a troll, in fact the most troll-like troll Rhys had ever seen, was considering which cheese would serve best as the topping to her five-cheese lasagne. By the kitchen sink Kevin the vampire was unloading a fresh bag of anti-bacterial handcreams, while, from a pipe on the ceiling, Sally dangled, head buried in an copy of Van Gogh–Life and Times. A thump from the bathroom and an unmistakable smell heralded the arrival of a fifth–Mr Roding, who greeted Rhys as he swanned into the living room, trailing the odour of lavender and decaying flesh. Over the sound of the TV Rhys heard Edna exclaiming, “Good grief, and what did the gnome do next?” As his gaze returned to the kitchen, the certainty came to him that he wasn’t dead, and this couldn’t be hell, because even Lucifer couldn’t have thought of it.
To Sharon, he said at last, “There’s um… there’s a goblin on the kitchen table.”
“Oh yeah! You haven’t met Sammy, have you?” Sharon waved at the goblin, who exhaled a fluoride-laden grunt of discontent. “Sammy, this is Rhys!”
“Runny-nosed Welshie!” replied the goblin.
“Hello, Rhys,” offered Gretel, holding out one fingertip for Rhys to not so much shake, as pat in greeting. “I am glad to hear you are feeling better.”
He felt the pull of stitches somewhere under his bandages and managed to respond with “Uh-huh.”
“You totally need to get yourself checked out,” offered Kevin. “I mean, I know the doctor was all like, ‘I’ve handled it,’ but you got torn up by claws. They hadn’t even been washed first. There could have been wendigo spit on those claws; those could be the claws he eats with and… does the other stuff too.” The vampire leaned forward and whispered, “Sometimes it’s okay not to put your faith in the NHS.”
“Bloodsucker,” sang out Sammy.
“So, yeah,” muttered Sharon in Rhys’s ear. “So, like uh, Magicals Anonymous is getting all, you know, ready… on this shit.”
The words landed one at a time in the tender places of Rhys’s conscience and settled like bricks. “We’re what?”
Sharon was trying not to cringe. The druid had never seen her cringe; but now her whole body was twisting, as if attempting to curl into somewhere behind her spine. “Thing is,” she said, “it turns out that like, the whole city really is threatened, yeah, and spirits are disappearing. And that is like, a major thing, yeah, and actually like, most of Magicals Anonymous have issues with that, because there’s, you know, witches and druids and Tuatha Dé Danaan and all that joining us. And the Aldermen can’t do shit because of politics, but the Midnight Mayor said someone had to do something. So basically…” she drew in a breath, forced her shoulders back and proclaimed “… we’re gonna save the day.”
Silence.
“Do I have to?” asked one voice. “Only I’ve got this appointment with the Citizens Advice Bureau about suing my dentist.”
Sharon glared. Kevin cowered.
“I think it’s an excellent and noble cause,” intoned Gretel. “Together we shall rid the city of evil and then we shall have a celebratory feast with aperitifs.”
I personally think that this is in the finest spirit of the community, wrote Sally, from her position hanging off the ceiling. It is appropriate that we give something back to our society.
“Ms Li?” asked Rhys. “Can I have a word?”
He hurried her out into the hall. “So, uh, Ms Li,” he said, his voice urgent and low, “it’s not that I’m not happy to see everyone, see, but are you, I mean… are you really thinking we should, maybe, pick a fight with a wendigo and his minion hordes? We just met the men who could turn the ground beneath your feet to liquid sucking concrete and it didn’t go well last time with just four of them, and did I mention the minion hordes?”
“They work in finance–how bad can it be?”
“Exactly! It’s like bankers, but with claws! And, with the greatest respect, Magicals Anonymous is a wonderful thing, but we’re not fighters. We’re… well, we’re…” he gasped down air, seeding the words, “we’re only good in support!”