The Hidden City: Jones & Maxwell Casefiles, #1

By H. B. Lyne

The only thing between us and the demons is a broken soldier with a cause...

 

Struggling to reintegrate himself into civilian life, army veteran Felix Jones clings to the support of his sister—and the whisky. From his lonely perch by the window, peculiar comings and goings catch his bleary eye.

 

When his sister disappears, along with a huge chunk of the city, Felix is plunged into a desperate search for answers. He stumbles through a hole in the veil between worlds and discovers a whole new reality—one where nightmarish monsters are real and a clear threat to the human world.

 

Meanwhile, grizzled old shifter, Ragged Edge works with his pack to pool every resource they have to fix the hole that has been ripped in the city. It'll take enormous power to undo this dark magic. And dammit, Ragged Edge is getting too old for this.

 

Armed with new insight, a silver bullet, and a thirst for vengeance, Felix sets out to put things right and destroy the monsters who caused this catastrophe, before they endanger anyone else.

• Language: English
• Publisher: H. B. Lyne
• Release date: Mar 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781913673109

Book preview

Are we a perfect match?

The Hidden City is dark urban fantasy. In these pages you won't find sparkly vampires or teenage heroines with perfect hair.

I write dark, gritty, emotionally compelling stories filled with flawed protagonists, anti-heroes and deliciously dark villains.

There will be plot twists that bring out your most colourful language and yes, I write in British English.

If any of these things bother you, turn back now. If however, darkness is your poison, then read on and lose yourself in the shadows for a while.

Acknowledgements

I want to thank my editor, Zoe Markham, who has been a joy to work with. She always keeps me in line, without compromising my style.

The folks in the writing community who have inspired me, motivated me and generally kept me on track when life got very hard; thank you all so much.

Thanks, of course, to my loyal patrons who have stuck by me through thick and thin; Andy, Linzy, Richard, Monika and Emé.

An extra special thank you to my incredibly supportive family, who have been behind me every step of the way in writing this book. There have been tremendous sacrifices made and I want to express my sincere gratitude to them for that.

And finally, my readers. It's all for you x

CHAPTER ONE

TRAFFIC RUMBLED PAST on the cobbled street below the window. Felix Jones stubbed out his cigarette into the full ashtray as he gazed down onto the wet street. It had rained all day. That fine drizzle that was particular to Caerton. It didn’t seem so bad until you went out in it and found yourself soaked to the skin within minutes. October had been particularly wet so far, but Felix didn’t mind, except that it made his left leg ache where the pins were. He ran his rough hands through his greasy hair and down over his stubble-covered jawline. He gave his cheek a light slap and blinked his bloodshot eyes.

He reached for his phone and opened his messages. A string of unanswered texts to his ex-wife stared back at him. The last of which was him begging to see their son. He scowled at the lack of response from the heartless bitch and tossed his phone back onto the table next to the window. He resumed staring out at the passing traffic. He lived above a corner shop at the bottom of a side street in the heart of Old Town. It was the oldest part of the city, right by the river and the old castle ruins. It was a jumble of little old cobbled streets, like his, and wide, sweeping roads that carried heavier traffic in and out of the city centre.

It was getting dark and the street lights were starting to flicker on. Felix heaved a sigh and his breath caught in his throat, forcing him into a hacking cough. He turned and stumbled over to the sink in the small kitchenette and spat out the phlegm that had come up. He winced and ran the tap to wash it away. He reached for his whiskey bottle and poured a double shot into a smeared glass. He knocked it back and smacked his lips.

He was a mess and he knew it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care too much. He poured another drink and wandered back to his perch by the window. Sipping this one more slowly, Felix stared down into the street again.

He had been doing this almost all day and night since he got back from the hospital. He didn’t have much else to do. He absently rubbed his aching knee and flexed it a few times to try and take the edge off. The drink helped with that most of all. That and the nightmares. He didn’t care much for sleep these days.

A man in a long, dark coat with a tall wooden staff strode past the end of the road below and Felix narrowed his eyes, watching the strange figure. He had long, grey hair and walked past at the same time every day with a determined expression on his weathered face. Felix had noticed him about two weeks ago and quickly spotted the pattern. A distinctive man like that was hard to miss. How many people walked around the city with a staff like that? The stranger was soon out of sight and Felix lit up another cigarette to occupy his hands. He shrugged it off again, like he did every day.

At 10 p.m. Felix was out of smokes. He pulled on his leather boots without bothering to tie the laces, put on his battered old jacket and left his flat without locking the door. He stomped down the stairs and out into the wet street. A bar up the hill was hopping with young revellers and he grunted with indignation. The shop under his flat was still lit up, but quiet inside. He opened the door and a bell jingled overhead. He weaved between the stuffed shelves to the counter where an old Asian man was stacking newspapers.

‘All right, Sanjeev.’

The man behind the counter turned to Felix and gave him a tentative smile.

'Mr. Felix. How are you this evening?’

‘Out of smokes. The usual, please.’

‘Of course.’ Sanjeev turned and found Felix’s usual brand of cigarettes from the display, which stood open at this time of night when it was typically being restocked. The shop owner put the packet down on top of a stack of newspapers and Felix handed over the money in change. He scooped up the precious purchase and stuffed it into his pocket. With a casual wave, he left the shop, making the bell over the door ring again on his way out. He unlocked the small door at the side of the shop and trudged back up the stairs, ignoring the cries and shouts of the young people in the street.

He was about to light up when his phone buzzed. He fumbled to get it out of his pocket and looked eagerly at the display. His enthusiasm evaporated when he saw his sister’s name above the message. He unlocked the phone and read it over.

‘Don’t forget about that group in the morning. Do you still want me to come?’

‘That's the only reason I agreed to go. You’d fucking better meet me there,’  he replied. He dropped the phone onto the table and carried on lighting a cigarette. Julie had been on at him for weeks now to go to this thing and he had grudgingly agreed just to shut her up. But maybe it would do him good. He hadn’t ventured past the end of the street in ages and it might be good to talk to other veterans, or to listen at least. He’d been back for four months, but it didn’t feel like it. He’d spent a chunk of that time in hospital and then in a rehab facility doing daily physiotherapy. Sometimes it felt like years, other times just moments. Sometimes when he closed his eyes he was still out there. He let out a snort, dragged hard on his cigarette and stared down into the street. He could hear the revellers from the bar making their way down towards the main road; they were shouting and jeering. He peered down at them as they came into view.

‘Don’t be stupid!’ one young woman yelled, bursting into laughter.

‘I’m not being stupid. I’m fucking scared. I don’t know where I live. Why don’t I know where I live?’

Felix rolled his eyes and moved away from the window, carrying his ashtray with him. Stupid drunk bitch. He dropped down onto the faded old sofa and laid his head back. He finished off the cigarette and rubbed his eyes. He was going to have to sleep. There was no more putting it off. He knocked back the last of his whiskey and sat there staring at the wall until sleep finally claimed him.

THE DULL LIGHT OF ANOTHER dark grey morning filtered through his eyelids. The pattering of rain on the window seeped into his consciousness.

‘Fuck,’ he groaned as he peeled his eyelids apart. They were crusted with sleep. He rubbed them hard and ran his hands over his stubble. Maybe he should shave before going to this damn support group. He reached for his phone to check the time. It was already gone 8 a.m. He groaned again and heaved himself up off the sagging couch. He pulled himself to the bathroom, stripping his ripe clothes off en route. He stepped into the shower before the water had warmed up and felt the sting of the cold water on his skin.

The shower tray was littered with empty shower gel bottles and the sealant was going black. He stared down at it, hardly seeing it, feeling the gentle patter of the water from the shower on the back of his neck. The water pressure was feeble. The alcohol from the previous day had left his head foggy and his mouth dry. He turned his head up and let the lukewarm water flow into his open mouth. He swilled it around and spat it at his feet. It was nicotine-stained and he watched it swirl around the plughole before disappearing.

‘Felix, you are fucking disgusting. You have to sort yourself out. Maybe then you can see the kid. Come on, you dumb fucker.’ He shook his head and began scrubbing at his skin with a loofah. He shampooed his hair and tried to rid himself of the stink that seemed to follow him. He could do this.

When he was done in the shower he rooted through the bathroom cabinet for a razor, wiped the condensation off the mirror and began to shave. The razor was blunt and it scraped over his rough skin without making much difference to his facial hair. With a sigh, he abandoned his efforts and brushed his teeth instead.

Back in his bedroom, which he rarely spent time in, he found clothes scattered around the place in various states of wearability. He opened his wardrobe in search of something clean. He found an old pair of jeans that didn’t quite fit any more and a black shirt that he had bought for a funeral. He squeezed himself into the jeans and put on the shirt while trying not to think of the friend who had died. He was just one of many.

Felix checked the time again. ‘Fuck.’ He was going to be late. He hastily typed a text to Julie saying he was on his way. He pulled his boots on and took a moment to tie the laces for once. He grabbed his keys and his smokes and ran out the door, slamming it behind him.

He practically jogged into the city centre, wheezing after about twenty seconds. Damn, he was out of shape. How had his health deteriorated so quickly? He’d been in peak physical condition before his injury brought him home. He coughed up a glob of yellow phlegm at the door to the community centre and spat it unceremoniously into a nearby drain. He checked his phone, he was only five minutes late. There was no reply from Julie. He went inside, thinking maybe she was waiting in