Christopher Byford - Den of Smoke - Absolutely gripping fantasy page turner filled with magic and betrayal

‘All this commotion isn’t bringing me my drink any faster, Joey. What are you bleating about?’

‘I recognize this piece right here. This very piece. I’ve seen a bitch like her shake down folks in the street. Exactly like her in fact.’

‘Guys, there’s no need for that,’ Cole protested with his palms open, but he was firmly brushed from his stool with a wave of a muscular arm.

‘Oh yeah, I know who you are, girlie.’ Joey Sanders wagged his finger in her face. Alvina remained stone-faced. ‘I know exactly who you are. You’re a down and dirty Jackrabbit . What in the hell makes you think you’re validated in drinking in this establishment with the stunts you pull?’

Alvina tossed the last of her liquor from cheek to cheek before swallowing the burning away. Finally, and with not an unjust threat, she spoke.

‘You have a big mouth,’ she said. ‘In fact, you all have big mouths. Big mouths with big words, with a tendency to lead you into big trouble.’

Now provoked, the five behind Joey stepped closer.

‘I’ve got half a mind to drag you down the street by your hair and give you a going over,’ Joey stated.

‘At least you’re right about the half a mind part,’ she quipped.

‘No trouble!’ Marquis insisted, repeating himself louder in vague threat. ‘ No trouble here! You do that, you do it elsewhere, you do it elsewhere away from here!’

Suddenly Marquis jabbed the air at Alvina and Cole. ‘You two are supposed to be protection! Protect! ’

Alvina beckoned the man on the floor to rise with a wag of her fingers. ‘He’s got a point, Little Fish. Feet . Up on your feet with you.’

‘We’re protection?’ Cole asked, taking to his boots though quite unsure about what to do next.

‘For a portion of the nice stallholders’ profits. The ones who pay us of course.’

‘You’re protection ?’ Joey repeated in surprise, louder. A couple of the men behind him sniggered loudly.

‘From the ugly – such as you – sure. Why not?’ Alvina shrugged.

Joey was the first to take a swing. He was fast, faster than someone should be with his bulk. He had obviously learnt how to throw a punch, to use his size as an asset. Sadly it would be for naught in this instance. Alvina slipped down on her stool, letting the fist arc overhead. During its course of travel she reached to her belt, withdrew a switchblade and shanked the aggressor in the thigh. It was a motion that she assumed would take the fight from him, though his roar of anger at his wound indicated it had done no such thing.

The second swing was faster, just as sizable, but it too missed its target. Alvina was already on her feet, had ducked beneath the punch and struck him with one of her own on his jaw. It was a decent punch though on a hardened chin caused nothing but surprise.

Before either party could react further, glass exploded between the pair of them. Cole stood frozen, still clenching the neck of a now shattered rum bottle that he had burst against the thug’s temple. It was enough to knock him out, and he landed in the dirt among the thick shrapnel of smoky bottle shards.

‘Thanks,’ Alvina said, though her attention turned to the others. As Cole tossed his defunct tool away, the Marquis abandoned his stall, as did others who had hoped for a quiet meal.

As the Sanders Boys advanced, Cole struggled to see any way out. He had already had one beating this week and was keen to ensure that it wouldn’t be repeated. His fists were raised in defence, trying to recall some of the boxing tips that his father had imparted.

‘Isn’t it a good time to show some iron to these folks?’

‘You don’t pull a gun out in a bar fight. It’s just not how an altercation is done,’ Alvina explained, waiting for the first unlucky fool to take their chance. One did so and was hip-tossed into a barstool, shattering it into pieces. She followed it up with a kick across the jaw, rendering him motionless.

A glint of steel flashed between them. The knife flashed, light sinking down the blade to its hilt. Its owner advanced aggressively and waved it back and forth.

‘And that?’ Cole asked, trying not to panic.

‘Well, that’s just unsporting.’

He watched Alvina flow through the air like liquid, darting and dodging every thrust, moves practised so much that they were committed to muscle memory. The knife pierced nothing but air and when a sufficient opening appeared, Alvina punished the thrust and ensured that the culprit would be unable to hold anything for a few weeks.

The cracking of bone caused the men to surge onward in a wave of malice. All Cole saw was Alvina landing punches into the cluster of bodies, scattering them this way and that.

That and the fist that knocked him out, sending the world to black.

Two days later, the Jackrabbits took to the merchants’ quarter, navigating the streets with purpose. Cole was more sheepish than the others, nursing an almighty black eye that sullied his eye socket. It had swollen too, an uncomfortable reminder of his lack experience in a brawl. Not that he needed a reminder of course. Between then and now, the entire gang had ribbed him about his shiner. That didn’t look to be easing up any time soon.

‘If recent events have shown us anything,’ Jack declared, ‘it’s that you need to defend yourself a little better than you already have. I can’t have people under my employ walking around with faces like a butcher’s scrap bucket.’

‘He’s referring to the eye ,’ Alvina leant in and whispered.

‘Thank you, I got that,’ Cole groaned back under his breath.

‘In this line of work, I expect plenty,’ Jack continued. ‘Loyalty is a given. But what I need to know when you’re out of my sight, and the sight of others, is that you can see potential dangers.’

‘That’s difficult for you on account of being punched.’ Alvina edged closer once more, the end of her revelation trailing to a hiss. ‘Punched in the eye .’

Cole slapped his palm to his face in disbelief.

Blake had remained curiously silent, occasionally flicking his good eye in Cole’s direction. It was clear that this entire affair didn’t sit right with him and he voiced as much.

‘What are we doing about retaliation? We’re not letting the Sanders Boys get away with this are we? Even as a sham, they’ll be under the false impression that they can get one over on us without repercussions.’ He loudly spat into the gutter. ‘The last thing we need is more pressure from chancers.’

‘They are plenty in number and we are a handful. The odds dictate we play things smart and safe.’

‘Is that a no? We’re going to let this go unpunished?’

‘When the time comes, but today is not that day.’ Jackdaw fiddled with his shirt cuffs in irritation.

‘Just give me a couple of weeks. I’ll jump each and every one from whatever pit they crawl out of, do the lot in turn and we’ll have one less concern on the daily.’

‘You –’ Jackdaw spun in his place, bringing Blake to an abrupt stop, his hand extended ‘– will do what I say. I’ve told you my stance on the matter and no action needs to be taken. Not by me, not by the others and especially not by you when in one of your hot-headed moods. Just having to explain this simple concept irritates me, so, from this moment forth, there will be none of this nonsense. Do you understand me?’

Jack may have missed it but Cole witnessed Blake’s fists clench to the point that his knuckles turned white. He held his breath, expecting a punch to be thrown that never came. Instead, the Jackrabbit relented and fell into line.