This Wild Justice: An Urban Fantasy Thriller: Harker & Blackthorn - Book Nine Read online

  This Wild Justice

  Harker & Blackthorn - Book Nine

  J. A. Ironside

  Blue Stone Press

  Copyright © 2022 J. A. Ironside

  Blue Stone Press

  This Wild Justice -- Harker & Blackthorn Book Nine - first published September 2022

  Copyright © J. A. Ironside 2021

  Cover Artwork copyright © J. A. Ironside 2022

  Cover Design copyright © J. A. Ironside 2022

  Cover Photograph Girl copyright © Faestock

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher and author.

  First Edition

  For Dexter

  Who was the absolute opposite of a feral creature and is missed every day.

  Revenge is a kind of wild justice, which the more man's nature runs to, the more ought law to weed it out.

  -- FRANCIS BACON

  In revenge and in love woman is more barbaric than man is.

  -- FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE

  Contents

  Copyright

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One -- The Panicky Run-a-way

  Chapter Two -- Tragic Accident

  Chapter Three -- Bedroom Hymns

  Chapter Four -- Long Since Discarded

  Diary Extract

  Chapter Five -- Feral Creatures

  Chapter Six -- Granite

  Chapter Seven -- The Shape of a Story

  Diary Extract

  Chapter Eight -- The House Dreaming

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Nine -- The Teeth of the Storm

  Chapter Ten -- Gone Brick

  Journal Entry

  Chapter Eleven -- Irregularities

  Diary Extract

  Chapter Twelve -- Shadow, Mist and Darkness

  Chapter Thirteen -- Little Vixen

  Chapter Fourteen -- Some Air

  Intercepted Communiqué

  Chapter Fifteen -- Over the Threshold

  Chapter Sixteen -- Unexpected Guest

  Chapter Seventeen -- Last Until Dawn

  Diary Extract

  Chapter Eighteen -- Crossing Paths

  Chapter Nineteen -- Hair of the Dog

  Chapter Twenty -- A Blind Eye

  Chapter Twenty-one -- Basically Maths

  Chapter Twenty-two -- Through the Woods

  Chapter Twenty-three -- In From the Cold

  Chapter Twenty-four -- The Devil Rides Out

  Diary Extract

  Chapter Twenty-five -- Emotional Bruises

  Chapter Twenty-six -- Atonement

  Lodestone Doc/ 4874A

  Author's Note

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  The fervid heat of the early August afternoon fades into a thick, sweet twilight. The sky over Dartmoor is a true violet, bruised with pink and indigo near the horizon, where a waning moon has not yet risen. Although the moor darkens, only a few pitch-black shadows creep out from the crags and hills thus far. Wistman's Wood is already in deepest midnight. The moss-covered oaks and rowans creak gently although there is no breeze to sway their branches.

  The man sets his bag down on a rock at the edge of the forest, considering his plan. Perhaps here is close enough. There is something about the wood that sends shards of warning through the muted, and often out of tune, extra sense he acquired on completing his training. It was decades ago now but that extra sense has saved his life on many an occasion. He had been a city boy until work for his former employer sent him out into a more literal field, but even without the benefit of a rural childhood, the twisted forms of the trees against the darkness unnerve him. There are shapes which animals, including humans, instinctively recognise as threatening. A housecat that has never set a paw outdoors will leap in alarm at the sight of a limp coil of discarded belt, thinking it a snake. The silhouette of a man impressed against the light at the end of an alleyway will provoke similar trepidation in a lone walker by night. Ancient trees bending towards each other in huddles speak to the same part of the brain.

  It isn't merely structural archetypes at play here, however. The man is certain that the wood has a genius loci of its own. It would be unwise to follow his previous plan and go deep under the trees to commence his task. And there is no knowing how much longer the boy will remain in drugged docility. Carrying a well grown child of eleven over his shoulder along that tangled path would not be easy, even if his physical prowess and stamina were what they once were. Besides, the light is better here. Why add to the risk? This work is already dangerous enough. The man ignores the unconscious boy and begins to unpack the few supplies he needs from his bag. The flat-topped lump of granite will do nicely.

  Once -- long ago it seems now -- he was brought before a different stone, and it looked into him, awakening what it found there. Since then, he's had intuitions and occasional flashes of supernatural strength. But the real gift bestowed upon him, is that if he calls, something will answer.

  The man stretches his pain riddled body, feeling the tightening pull of scar tissue. He has had a long time to think and plan this moment; to gather the information he needs and choose where best to strike. The only relief for his fury is the thought of the revenge he will wreak on those who wronged him. He shudders with a pleasure almost sexual in its intensity. All of them. They will all pay because debts come due. Smiling with half his face -- such an expression is now beyond the other half -- he sets to work.

  Later there will be blood and terror and the hungry cries of his new servant.

  Later, there will be vengeance.

  Chapter One -- The Panicky Run-a-way

  The lid of the coffee maker finally clicked into place, and I switched it on. It was surprisingly hard to make coffee when you were bouncing around like a kangaroo on speed. Or at least, while dancing around your kitchen in a knee length kimono singing Florence and the Machine's pioneering hit Dog Days are Over under your breath. Which was what I was doing.

  Finding it completely impossible to sit still while I waited for the coffee, I zipped around the kitchen, checking what food I had for making breakfast later, dancing on the spot and singing softly. I've been told -- repeatedly and at length -- that I'm weirdly and annoyingly sunny-natured.

  This was an exceptionally good mood, even for me. I couldn't seem to wipe the grin off my face.

  Steve, who was very much not a morning person, was still asleep in my bed. He'd come over to watch a film with me last night, and somehow, I'd managed to pick my way through the emotional minefield of being attracted to my best friend and start a conversation about us being more than friends.

  Although there hadn't been that much actual talking, now I thought about it. Last night had been far more about the show than the tell. Suffice to say that we hadn't got much sleep. Which was why, when I'd woken up beside him earlier, I'd made the noble decision to slip quietly out of bed and make coffee, ready for when he woke up. A monument should be raised to my self-restraint.

  A faint undertone of apprehension bled into my good mood. This was uncharted territory. Changing the status of our relationship was go
ing to take some adjustment. Besides, morning-after awkwardness happens to everyone at least once. I responded to this completely unfounded worry by planning the day ahead, in detail. Coffee in bed, then a bit later, breakfast. Then I'd drag Steve out for a walk because if we stayed indoors all day, I would not be responsible for the consequences. And maybe this evening he and I could finally go on an actual date.

  Assuming that's what Steve wanted.

  I halted, frowning as new and unwelcome possibilities occurred to me. What if I was making plans based on incorrect assumptions? What if last night's openness had frozen over? Full of sudden, skittish anxiety, I left the coffee percolating and crept back down the hall. My bedroom door was ajar. I peered round it and spotted the empty bed, duvet half trailing on the floor. Not that there was any reason to worry. Steve had probably gone to the bathroom. A glance at the bathroom door, which stood open, negated that idea. A sick sensation pitched downwards in my gut.

  I strode to the living room, telling myself I was being paranoid. Even if Steve had to leave for some reason, he'd never just slip out without telling me. Even if he'd had second thoughts, he wouldn't just bail on me. He was my best friend. He wouldn't do that.

  I pushed the living room door open and found Steve half dressed, frantically trying to stab the buttons of his shirt through the buttonholes. He didn't see me. A cold, hard lump lodged in my throat.

  I watched in silence as he raked his fingers through his hair, trying to get it to lie flat. He muttered something profane under his breath. He hadn't located his socks or boots yet. I swallowed hard. Shocking stabs of hurt lanced the inside of my chest. He was trying to sneak out.

  The viciously analytical part of my mind which had finally shut up last night, chose that moment to point out that this was only to be expected. You let people get close to you, then they left. It wasn't as if I didn't already know that.

  I considered silently retreating, allowing him to make a run for it if he wanted to go so badly, but something about the way he held himself made me pause. This wasn't what it looked like. It couldn't be because I knew Steve. He wouldn't treat anyone like that, especially not me. I forced a deep, soundless breath into my lungs. There was no reason to feel abandoned before it actually happened.

  "Steve?"

  He whirled, startled. His eyes darted to my clingy silk dressing gown, my loose hair. My bare legs. He flushed, mortified that I'd caught him. Only the knowledge that not confronting him would make me feel even more wretched later stopped me from fleeing. "Are you going somewhere?"

  Steve's gaze was full of conflict. His eyes dipped involuntarily to low neckline of my kimono, then away. "I think I'd better."

  Hurt flashed through me again but I ignored it. Something was off here. "Can't you even stay for coffee?"

  "I can't...I..." Steve swallowed hard. "Last night was...incredible. You were... I mean..."

  My brows rose but the horrible knot of misery and confusion in my gut loosened. "And that's what's making you hare out of here like someone lit your arse on fire?"

  "No. Yes. I mean...Oh God..."

  I tried to look at him objectively. One boot hung limp from his hand, laces snarled. His hair was sticking out behind his ears in wild waves. His eyes were frantic and wary. And he hadn't done a good job with his shirt at all. It bulged and gaped alarmingly where he'd fastened several buttons through the wrong buttonholes. The hem on one side grazed the waistband of his trousers. On the other it hung six inches lower than it should. He couldn't seem to meet my eyes.

  I'd wanted to hide rather than confront him. Was this Steve trying to do the same thing?

  "Steve?" I said, with a touch of annoyance because this had really taken the edge off my good mood.

  He swallowed. "Yes?"

  "Is this you doing the panicky run-a-way?"

  "Um..."

  "Do you actually want to leave?" I decided that since bluntness had worked last night, it was worth a shot now. "Or are you going so I don't have to kick you out?"

  "Yes...well..." Steve looked at me helplessly. "I woke up and you were...gone."

  "Let me make this easy for you." I reached for a tone of amused exasperation, squashing down the hideous vulnerability I felt until it was ignorable. "When I said I wasn't going to kick you out afterwards, I was including this morning in that statement." I gave him a mischievous smile. "I got up because I didn't want to wake you. My self-control isn't that good."

  He blinked, looking so startled by that idea, I fought not to laugh.

  "I thought it might be polite to offer you coffee before I succumbed to temptation. I was about to bring you some."

  "Oh...right..." Steve said faintly. The boot dropped from his hand, hitting the floor with a thud.

  "Just so we're really clear, I intended to follow the coffee with breakfast, a shower, maybe a walk down by the river." It was sort of fun making Steve look that dazed and bewildered. "I even thought maybe we could do something together tonight. Like a date? If you don't have plans."

  "Oh," Steve said again, sounding strangely deflated. "I thought..."

  I canted my head to one side causing a sheaf of hair to slide over my shoulder. "In the fifteen minutes I left you alone, you thought I would what? Come to my senses? Have second thoughts?"

  Steve pushed a wayward dark strand out of his eyes. "Something like that."

  "I've got the day pretty much mapped out, so maybe we can schedule me having second thoughts for later?" I said.

  He smiled reluctantly. "Or perhaps never."

  I grinned, buoyancy returned, eying his shirt. "You can't go anywhere like that."

  "Ah. Would you believe I've been dressing myself since I was six years old?" Steve said sheepishly.

  "Every so often, we all need help." I briskly unbuttoned his shirt, then paused as I lined the buttons up correctly. I glanced up at him through my lashes, biting back a smile. "It's just occurred to me that you don't really have to put this on at all. Not right now." I slid my hands inside his shirt.

  Steve's gaze darkened. He caught hold of my waist, pulling me against him.

  "Unless you have somewhere you need to be, right now?" I raised an eyebrow.

  For an answer, Steve hastily shrugged out of the shirt again and kissed me. I gasped at his lips grazed a line of fire down my throat, driving all other snarky remarks out of my head. If asked later, I honestly wouldn't have been able to say how we got back to the bedroom. There was nothing but his body against mine, the fierce heat that burned between us and afterwards, a strange peace as we lay breathlessly side by side.

  "You didn't really want to go, did you?" I said eventually.

  Steve gave me a wry smile "No. I was trying to spare you the trouble of banishing me. And me from having to hear it."

  I wondered if I should try to explain what had been going through my head when I'd thought he was trying to slip out, but that would really be exposing my underbelly. I wasn't ready for that.

  "I guess maybe I should have been clearer last night," I said, instead.

  "The problem was the audience. It matters what you think." Steve shifted, so he was facing me.

  "Well, I care what you think too. So we're even." There was no earthly reason for my heart to begin pounding like a drum now. No reason to feel so guarded.

  "I'm probably going to say this all wrong." Steve lifted my hand and lightly kissed the knuckles. "You're the most amazing person I've ever met."

  I snorted, abruptly shy. "You literally house shared with the Handmaiden of Death -- not to mention the rest of your Uni buddies. And Bex is your cousin. I think your definition of amazing might be off."

  "This has nothing to do with..." Steve broke off, frustrated. "You have no idea what a difference you made to my life. I've been incredibly fortunate with my friends. I don't deny that. But you just breezed in and suddenly I wasn't an outsider. I wasn't...alone anymore."

  The drumbeat in my chest increased in tempo. I wanted him to stop talking; I wanted him to never
stop.

  "You're my dearest friend. I've been terrified of losing that."

  My eyes prickled. "You won't... I won't..."

  "Let me finish. Please? While I'm still high enough on your presence?" Steve smiled faintly. "This isn't because I'm in bed with you right now. It's just making it easier for me to say what I've been trying to say for a long time."

  There didn't seem to be as much oxygen in the air as there had been a moment ago.

  "You're brilliant, in both senses of the word. Literally the most intelligent person I know. You're kind and funny. You always have something positive to say. You're a lioness -- the kind of courageous that makes me think I can be brave too. You're beautiful..."

  My skin felt too small to contain the sudden inferno.

  "...and you have the most generous heart of anyone I've ever known. The extraordinary thing is despite all of that, you carry yourself so lightly. But I see you."

  I couldn't think of a thing to say, but he wasn't done.

  Steve's expression grew overcast. "You're wildly out of my league, you know."

  "Oh please," I said scornfully.

  "It's true," he replied. "I need you to know that someone...that I appreciate everything you are." His mouth tilted wryly. "And perhaps I needed to say aloud what I'm risking."

  "Risking?" But hadn't that been partly what made me shy away from this for so long?

  "Amy, I'm in love with you." Steve's voice was soft but certain, eyes unguarded. "I've been in love with you for..." He paused, considering, then laughed a little. "Honestly? I think I've been in love with you since you emerged from Loch Ness festooned with pondweed and grinning like it was a once in a lifetime experience."

  I stared at him. From going too fast, my heart had now lurched to a halt. I had no idea how much was elation and how much was terror. This wasn't something we could try on for size, then just go back to being friends with nothing changed between us if it didn't work.