Brotherhood of Shades. Dawn Finch

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      D’Scover sat at his desk and looked down at his hands, idly fading them in and out of solidity while he thought. He looked close to forty, but as if it had been a lonely journey to get to that age. With his clean-shaven face framed by a thick gloss of collar-length black hair, his pale skin seemed to shine out from a halo of deepest night. His high cheekbones defined his lean face and his eyes were large and dark, and with no pupils they gave away none of his emotions. On the rare occasions that he smiled, it sat uncomfortably on his face like a party hat on a head teacher – an effort towards jollity that he did not really welcome. His work was everything to him and he made sure that all around him knew. Very few things – living or dead – in the world meddled with Toby D’Scover.

      Julie wafted through the door to bring D’Scover his messages. Arriving in the room, she looked down at her empty hands, remembering only then that the file could not pass through the wood as she could. It had tumbled to the office floor behind her.

      “I . . . I’m s-s-sorry, sir,” she stammered, turning back towards the door and banging her face hard against it.

      “Julie!” he said brusquely. “I realise you have not yet finished your training, but what is the Prime Rule of the Brotherhood?”

      She looked down at her feet as she answered. “Concentrate,” she muttered.

      “Concentrate,” he repeated. “We rest our success on never being caught out. Those who are seen are not fit for the Brotherhood. Concentration ensures that we can move amongst the living without their knowledge. And what would one of our living agents say if they saw you marching through doors? You know it makes them uncomfortable to be reminded of their own mortality.”

      “I’m truly sorry, sir,” she muttered through obviously gritted teeth. “I’ll try and concentrate harder.”

      “Do so.” He stared hard at her as she stood in front of the closed door.

      A moment’s awkward silence trickled round the room as she stared at her shoes.

      “Messages?” D’Scover queried with his eyebrows raised.

      “Oh!” she said. “Yes, the messages!”

      She opened the door and reached out to gather up her fallen file and the paperwork that had spewed from it on to the floor. D’Scover impatiently flicked his hand and the scattered paper shuffled itself into a neat pile and rose through the air towards his desk.

      “Do not bother,” he said dismissively. “I am in a hurry to get on with my work. Can you just get back to the desk and watch the incoming reports, please?”

      Julie sniffed loudly and turned away from him before scuttling from the room and back to her desk. The door closed heavily behind her and D’Scover could hear her muffled sobbing through the wall.

      “Amateurs,” he muttered to himself before looking at the folder of messages.

      There were the usual reports of spectral sightings from around the globe, many of which he could recognise as familiar spirits that needed no further action. Some were spirits causing a fuss close to their Final Dispersal and could be left to pass on without any help – time would take care of those for him. Others were agents caught momentarily going about Brotherhood business: these would need a caution, but could wait until later

      By far the most persistent reports were about fakers, charlatans. These were D’Scover’s pet hate, so-called psychics who cashed in on the beliefs of the weak and needy. Many of these he dealt with personally and had done so for as long as Spiritualism had existed. Not all of these people were fakers; in fact some of his best agents had been recruited from these meetings. Some people were genuinely sensitive and could maintain contact with the Spirit World, but most were just out to make money from the lonely and bereaved. This vile trade made him angry – and an angry D’Scover was a force to be reckoned with.

      Often, all it took to expose the charlatans was to attend a seance or so-called ‘spirit reading’, find out their tricks and show the other clients. He would attend as a living person and, while attention was diverted by the charlatan, he would detach wires, or pull back curtains, to reveal the trickery. On rare occasions it took what D’Scover called “a bit of a scare” to put them off. No one had ever continued with their deception after a “scare” visit from D’Scover.

      Flicking through the final messages, one caught his eye and he reached for his CC and slotted it into place in the keyboard. Isolating a particular location on his screen, he waited for the image to load. When it did, it was of a solid-looking woman wearing a nurse’s uniform and with a broad smile across her face.

      “Sister Goodman,” he said. “It is good to see you after such a long time.”

      “Hello, Toby, how are you?” The rotund nurse squinted at him. “You look terrible. Are you getting enough rest?”

      “Now you did not ask me to call you just for social reasons or to comment on the state of my apparent well-being, did you?” D’Scover evaded the question. “What can I do for you?”

      “Straight to the point, as usual.” Her smile faded. “I have a boy here, very close to the end, and I think you should come and take a look at him.”

      “If you say so. I trust your judgement,” he replied. “Do you have a safe computer for me to Hotline?”

      “I’m sending you the code now,” she replied.

      A series of numbers scrolled across the monitor and an empty black square unfolded at the bottom of the purple screen.

      “Good. I will be there immediately,” D’Scover said.

      The image of the nurse faded and all that remained on the screen was the black square. D’Scover moved this to the middle of the display. He took a deep breath and straightened his back, shuffling his chair backwards a little so that he was exactly at arm’s length from the monitor. Reaching out both hands, he placed his fingertips on the glass and closed his eyes.

      “Inter vivos,” he whispered to himself. “Once more amongst the living.”

      Blue sparks crackled around his fingertips and gradually began to spread up his hands. A rolling blue haze boiled over his arms and, within seconds, covered his whole body, enveloping him in a cold light that drained the colour from the room. He looked down and expelled a noisy breath; as he did so, his shape flickered and began to destabilise. Then, with a whoosh of static that made the loose paper on the desk jostle and dance, he became a spiralling vortex of glistening grey particles dissolving into the screen.

      In a locked office at St Mary’s Benevolent Hospice a computer in standby mode began to flicker and automatically load a deep purple background. Another black square unfolded on it and the room fizzed with static electricity. The lights in the corridor pulsed as a blue spark showed on the screen, then another and another until a spike began to form. The spike extended and grew from the screen, getting larger and larger and then expanding until a tall shape began to form in the room. A sudden rush and whirl of grey particles within the sparks and D’Scover stood in the dark room.

      He brushed himself down and straightened his suit before walking towards the door. At the door he hesitated as he remembered something and reached his hand up into the air. He clicked his fingers and a security badge appeared in his hand bearing his photograph and the name DR T SMITH; he clipped this to his pocket. He touched the keyhole in the СКАЧАТЬ