So, apparently, there were doves in New London. That was news to me. Also news to me: I didn't know what a dove was. It looked kind of like a pigeon, like an albino pigeon, and they were trickier bastards to get a hold of. That's how I found myself, just as the sun began to rise, chasing this dove across the rooftops. I had found it nesting in an old abandoned warehouse. I tried to sneak up on it, but that didn't work, and it flew away because birds do that, unfortunately.

  So now, I found myself hurtling across the wonky rooftops somewhere in South New London, chasing after a white dove. Although "chasing" was a bit of a misnomer. It was more of a quiet stalk, startle, fly away, and start-again procedure. You see, the dove wasn't the brightest creature I'd ever come across. Every time I almost got close to it, it would get startled, flap its wings, fly away, and then land where I could still see it and just continue about its day. This happened four times now, and each time I got slightly closer to it.

  Now it was resting on a chimney breast on top of one of those old-style houses with slate roofs. I carefully and quietly scaled the roof. The rain had made the slate tiles slick and precarious, and I didn't want to look down as I was at least 15 to 20 feet off the ground. I gritted my teeth and slowly crept along the roof, keeping my eye on the dove the entire way. It wasn't looking at me at the moment, but it seemed to have eyes in the back of its head. Every time I got too close to it, it hopped away or flew off. Steadying myself, I crept agonisingly close to it, then I stopped and froze, not even breathing, just watching it.

  "Come on, you little bastard," I muttered under my breath. "Just stay there, let me have a feather. You've got so many of them, just one won't hurt."

  I snatched out my hand and missed. The dove hopped out of reach and flapped its wings. I shot out my Grapple Cord and snaked it around the dove’s foot. It flapped wildly and squawked before pecking at my hand, its other foot clawing at me. I cried out in pain and shook the dove, trying to get it off me as its claws dug into my flesh. That's when I lost my footing. One of the slates was loose, and I stepped straight on it. It gave way underneath me and the dove and I started sliding down the roof. My feet flew out from underneath me and I went face-first onto the roof, skidding down wildly. I threw out my free hand trying to hold on to something while the dove kept pecking and pulling away from me. Then I ran out of roof.

  I hung weightless in the air for a few seconds before plummeting downwards. The air whooshed by me, and I squeezed my eyes closed. There was a mighty crash. I landed straight on top of a food van rusting away in someone’s back garden. I smashed straight into the unforgiving metal, bounced and slammed into the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of me. I blinked a couple of times and saw the dove flying away.

  "Shit," I groaned.

  I rolled myself around and tried to sit up. I looked around and, satisfied that I hadn't died again, I pulled myself slowly to my feet. My neck and my back were aching. I reached up to rub my neck, looked at my hand, and saw a few white feathers caught in my gloves. A stupid grin spread across my face. Well, that was ingredient number one taken care of!

  *

  Ingredient number two was altogether more ethereal. The Pigeon King had instructed me to bottle a shadow at its longest. I was never great at science in school, but I was sure that wasn’t possible. But, then again, neither were talking pigeons or surviving fatal stab wounds to the guts, so I rolled with it. The sun was beginning to rise and the shadows lengthened across the pavement. I had to be quick. Sunrise and sunset were the only two points in the day that the shadows would be at their longest, and I couldn’t afford to wait until sunset. I stood looking at a lamppost that had a pretty long shadow.

  Feeling very foolish, I took out the small vial that the Pigeon King had given to me. I uncorked it and peered inside. There was a strange sludgy mixture at the bottom. The Pigeon King's instructions were somewhat clear; they just didn't make sense logically. But I did what he told me to do. I walked to the end of the lamppost's shadow, bent down, and tried to scoop it into the bottle. Luckily, there was no one around, because I must have looked absolutely insane. And even worse, the shadow wasn't going into the bottle. I cursed and stretched my aching back.

  I thought about it. So far, from what I knew of the Craft, concentration and intention were key components to making any Rune or magic work. So as much as I doubted the King's words, as much as I didn't want to be doing this, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to concentrate on what I was supposed to be doing. I thought deeply about it, imagining walking along the length of the shadow, slowly scooping up the whole shadow inch by inch into the tiny bottle. I pictured it disappearing behind me as I walked.

  Once I could see that image and motion in my mind, I went over and over it until I felt that feeling of certainty. Without faltering this time, I bent down seemingly on instinct, placed the mouth of the bottle at the tip of the shadow, and smoothly began walking along its length, running the bottle across the ground, scooping it up like water from a running river. Through my half-closed eyes, I saw the bottle turning darker. I closed my eyes again and concentrated, and kept going until I reached the base of the lamppost. I opened my eyes, stood up, and hastily popped the cork back into the vial. I looked behind me, and the shadow was gone!

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  I lifted the bottle up, and it was almost pitch black. I shook it a bit, and there was some sort of gassy substance in the bottle now. It swelled and rolled around in the vial as I shook it. I had just captured a shadow! I grinned stupidly and hid the bottle away inside my jacket, looking up at the lamppost and giving it a friendly pat.

  "Yer a wizard, Harry." I said with a big stupid grin on my face. Then I heard the heavy pneumatic hiss of a nightbus pendulously rounding the corner. I pulled my hood up, hailed down the bus, and continued on my journey.

  Time for ingredient number three.

  *

  “Oh, I do not like this,” I muttered.

  I was standing outside Charlie Hall's theater. Who Charlie Hall was, I had no idea, but his theater was one of those old public buildings that people used to watch films in. They used to watch films together, sitting in the same room in silence, eating popcorn. Why anybody would do that when you could just sit at home in comfort by yourself and watch a film, I wasn't sure. But the theater had long since shut down. Now, it was a dusty, disused place, abandoned and rotting in the bowels of Camberwell.

  I tried the door, and it was chained shut, of course. But fortunately, like most things in the Boroughs, the theater was so rotten and dilapidated that a solid kick put through the boards on the window, and I was able to climb in. It was pitch black and reeked of damp. I covered my nose and lit my torch. I seemed to be in some sort of foyer. There were odd glass stands to one side, empty and covered in dust and grime. Then there was a staircase that led upwards. It was too big and too empty. But I was here now, so I sighed and put my foot on the step.

  This was perhaps one of, if not the most, creepy place I had ever been in. It seemed so melancholy as if it was designed to be full of noise and excitement and laughter, and now it was just empty and lonely. I walked up the steps, flashing my torch everywhere, fear biting at the back of my neck. I looked at one of the dusty signs and saw it had numbers on it. This one read "Number 1," next to a set of double doors that had all but rotted away and fallen off their hinges. I pulled the door open, and it fell apart in my hands, crumbling onto the squidgy carpet.

  I stepped inside and found myself in a large room with tiered seating all facing a blank wall. Well, it wasn't quite blank; it had some sort of material across it. The seats were all made of cloth that had been eaten away by mold. I stood at the back, looking down the rows, and again, the place just felt creepy. It felt wrong that I was the only person here. Did people really watch films like this? There'd be hundreds of them in this room. I shuddered at the thought. Who would want to sit in a room with all those strangers in the dark? That's so weird.

  I took a breath through my mouth, trying not to smell the place, and then uncorked the second vial that the Pigeon King had given me. This one was half full of some sort of sand at the bottom. I gave it a quick shake and then walked down to the bottom of the seats. There was an open space between the chairs and the weird material on the wall. I placed the bottle down in front of me and then sat cross-legged on the spongy carpet. I breathed and then listened. That was all the Pigeon King had instructed me to do, to be very quiet and very still and just listen to the echoes of the building.

  Delving again into my imagination, I tried to think of what the place must have looked like when it was operational. I tried to imagine all the seats in front of me full of people, eager-faced and excited. I imagined the screen glowing, illuminating their faces. I tried to think what they would be doing while watching their films. Maybe eating something and drinking. Were they talking? Were they laughing? Were they shouting? I wasn't sure. I tried to picture them having fun. My Grandad used to tell me about the cinema, as they called it, it sounded like it was a place of fun, especially for kids. So that's what I pictured. I pictured a lot of excited little children running around this big open space, watching perhaps their favourite cartoon on the screen.

  Gradually, minute by minute, the smell of rot began to fade. Then the smell changed. It smelled buttery and hot, like popcorn. There was a slow swell of sound filling the cavernous space. I was being bathed in the glow of the giant screen behind me. Flashes of light lit up the empty theater. But it wasn't empty anymore. Now I could see the silhouettes of people munching on their popcorn, drinking giant drinks, eagerly watching the film play out in front of them. And then I heard it. It was a sweet, warm laugh: a young girl's laugh by the sound of it. She tittered and chortled and guffawed as she chomped on fistfuls of popcorn, watching the film with bright eyes. I could hear her whispering, to her parents. She was laughing and pointing eagerly, bouncing in her seat. The laughter filled my senses, wrapping all around me.

  My eyes flickered open, and I saw a golden light slowly drifting into the vial. It was warm and pleasant, and slowly but surely, the vial filled up. I pushed the cork back into the bottle and lifted it up. I grinned, still feeling the warm tingles of all those happy memories. I held the bottle in front of me and raised my torch to see it better… and that's when I saw the dark silhouette sitting in the seat in front of me. It was humanoid in shape but utterly featureless, with only a bright white smile and no eyes. I froze as I looked at it.

  "I see you," the figure hissed at me, leering with its eyeless face. “I SEE YOU!”

  Its voice rose and rumbled. It was an unearthly, guttural sound. It rose from the seat, and I flew to my feet. I saw it bare its white teeth, which were more like tombstones than teeth. I saw a long, wet, red tongue rolling around in its mouth. It took a step towards me, and I bolted. I charged back up the steps, running as fast as I could. I exploded through the cracked doors to the screen. I kept running, taking the steps two and three at a time, not daring to look back until I was by the window again. I threw a look over my shoulder, shined the torch, and I swore I could just see the black silhouette standing at the door to the screen, looking down at me with no eyes and a wide grin on its face.

  “You have been seen,” I heard its voice hiss all around me.

  I leaped through the window and kept running as the sun rose, dispelling the fear coursing through my veins. I gasped breathlessly and didn't stop running until I could feel the warmth of the sun on the back of my neck and could no longer see the theater behind me.

  What the hell was that?