I found a spot beside a chimney, absorbing the heat off the bricks. I cast a glance across the snow-covered rooftops. The glow of the waxing moon cast a blue-silver sheen over everything, making the powder sparkle. I could hear the soft sounds of the orchestra in the theater below and the muted hum of voices, autos, and clopping horse hooves. But otherwise, it was silent.
“Well, Fenton, looks like it’s just you and me,” I said with a sigh, patting the hide hanging from my belt.
I stared out at the vista of gables. Trouble or no, I would find the werewolf running rampant on the Strand and end him.
Chapter 8: Up on the Rooftop
I stayed on the rooftop long after the theatre revelers had departed. Snatches of laughter and peals of “Away in a Manger” reached my ears. In the sky above, airships boasting red and green lanterns passed by. Christmas had come once more.
The clock on Tinker’s Tower had just bonged out two in the morning when a light snow started to fall. I hadn’t slept for more than twenty hours. I was freezing, my fingers and nose numb. My crepe long gone, my stomach started grumbling once more.
I was beginning to worry I had miscalculated. Perhaps the culprit was already working further down the Strand. I suddenly wished I’d ordered more uniformed officers on the streets. I hadn’t done so since all they generally did was get in the way. But just as I started second guessing myself, the palms of my hands and bottom of my feet tingled.
A block away, a flock of birds was startled from their roost and flew off.
I slipped on my night optic and activated it. Wrapping one hand around my silver dagger and pulling my pistol from my belt, I stayed close to the chimney to hide in the shadowed darkness then scanned the nearby rooftops.
Save for the few airships passing overhead, almost nothing else was moving. The lamplights on the streets below flickered, casting orange blobs of light onto the silent streets. Both the rooftops and the road were covered with a light dust of snow that shimmered crystalline in the darkness.
Through this silent space, I heard bells. Jingle bells. Just like Charles had said.
I squeezed the handle on my knife and looked around. There, five buildings down the Strand, a shape appeared on the rooftop. From his massive size and the heavy robes he was wearing, he appeared to be a werewolf. But I didn’t recognize him, and he was wearing some kind of strange hat. Wonderful. Just what I needed, another wild card like Marlowe. The hulking figure moved quickly across the rooftops.
Slinking from chimney to chimney to stay out of sight, I turned and headed in the direction of the figure who now lurked outside the window of a nearby building. He stood on a ledge, looking down into the window from the adjoining building’s roof. I was too far away to see what he was hunting, but it didn’t matter. I knew his quarry. What I didn’t know was why the wolf was stalking children. Except, of course, for the most apparent reason. Children were tasty treats. Yet still, it had been years since we’d had that kind of problem, and never from the Templars. Such animalism was far beneath them.
Moving in quickly and quietly, I watched him work. His odd robe hung in tatters around his ankles. He also wore something on his back. A bag? A basket? That must be where he stuffed the children so he could make a hasty escape. I moved closer, darting from chimney to chimney, until I could get a clear line of fire. Most wolves backed off when they saw the red cape. Most, but not all.
Though it was very dim, only the light of the moon showing the wolf in shadow, I saw that he was moving into place. He reached out for the window frame.
I stepped out from behind the chimney, training my pistol, which was loaded with silver bullets, on him.
“Step back. Now,” I said stiffly.
The figure froze in place.
“By proclamation of Her Majesty and under articles of the Red Cape Society, you are under arrest. I strongly suggest you don’t move. I do have a license to shoot you on sight. Now, step back and turn around. Slowly.”
The figure treaded back.
I squeezed my hand on the pistol tighter, my finger on the trigger. This was going to go one of two ways. And any second now, I’d know which.
“On your knees, wolf.”
To my surprise, the figure started to chuckle. A wind blew across the rooftop, sweeping past the werewolf to me. I expected—and was used to—the sharp feral scent of werewolves. Instead, I smelled peppermint.
My heart beat harder.
“I said, on your knees.”
Again, he laughed. Then he turned to face me, stepping more fully into the light of the moon.
Cat-like yellow eyes stared out from a grotesque face. A forked tongue slipped out from between fat lips. He laughed once more, snarling at me. The odd hat he’d been wearing wasn’t a hat at all but horns and a thick mat of hair. He wore a ragged green robe trimmed with bells. Sneering, he moved toward me, stomping across the roof tiles with cloven feet.
“Demon,” I whispered.
The creature laughed again, then turned and took off in a run, the bells on his clothes jingling.
Bracing myself, I took aim and fired.
The sound of my gunshot echoed across the city. The creature flinched but kept running.
Hell’s bells. Move, Clemeny.
I sprinted behind him. The creature ran, leaping from rooftop to rooftop as it retreated down the Strand. My heart thundered as I raced to keep up with him. Dodging patches of ice and doing my best not to slip on the snow-covered rooftops, I followed the massive creature as he ran. But even if I caught him, then what? I knew very little about fighting demons. I wasn’t equipped for the job in the slightest.
As I ran, I saw drops of blood on the rooftops. At least I had winged him. Shooting was something I did know how to do. I raced after him. His speed was incredible. Not just incredible, supernatural. And I was quickly running out of rooftops as Trafalgar Square appeared in the distance.
Just as I realized I needed to find a way down before he did, the creature stopped at the edge of a building and looked back at me. His yellow eyes glowed in the darkness. I saw that long, snake-like tongue slip from between his sharp teeth once more, then he turned and jumped.
Double hell’s bells!
Racing to the ledge, I grabbed the ladder and climbed down. I ran to the other side of the building, but the creature was nowhere in sight. On the ground, however, I spotted blood then made out hoofprints larger than the palm of my hand.
From Trafalgar Square, I heard a horse whinny loudly, followed by the sound of men shouting.
I raced in that direction.
Two men who had a cart parked by the massive Christmas tree that decorated the square were trying to calm the wide-eyed horse.
“Did you see it? Which way did it go?”
“What? See who?”
“That…man.”
“I didn’t see anything. We were sleeping. Someone spooked the horse,” the man said in a grumpy huff as he tried to calm his steed once more.
Dammit.
Scanning the ground, I spotted another drop of blood. I then spotted hoofprints in the snow. They were headed in the direction of the Mall. I raced behind the creature, trying to track hoofprints and drops of blood as I went. Soon, however, I had followed the hoofprints away from the promenade and into Saint James Park. Under the cover of the trees, I lost the trail. It was too dark. I stopped and listened. No jingle bells. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. No peppermint. I tried to feel for the creature. Nothing. Opening my eyes once more, I yanked off my optic and looked with my mooneye. I stood among the leafless trees, their shadowy silhouettes making long claws on the ground. I looked toward Buckingham Palace. The lights from the palace windows seemed to bob amongst the trees. There was a demon here, this close to the royal residence. A demon. Right here. I waited in the darkness, looking and listening. There was nothing. The creature was gone.
A short while later, I heard someone approach.
“Oi,” a voice called. “Hold it right there
now. What are you doing out here?”
I looked back to see one of the guards who patrolled the Mall walking toward me.
I slipped my gun back into my belt and grabbed my small silver badge.
Frowning toward the dark woods where the beast had disappeared, I turned toward the guardsman.
“I said, what are you—”
“Yeah, yeah. I heard you,” I said, lifting my badge. “Got an auto nearby?”
“What? Oh, I see. Sorry, Agent. Auto? No. I have a horse. What’s going on here?”
“I need your horse. And you need to get extra men patrolling this area. I chased…a…well, a vagrant, into the park but lost him in the darkness.”
“Yeah, we chase thieves out of here all the time. They use the park for cover just to—”
“No. Listen to me. You need extra men on the Mall. Do you understand me? Tell them Agent Louvel of the Red Cape Society has requested increased security. And if anything—anything—is found out of order, you need to inform my superiors at once. Now, where is your horse?”
“My horse? There,” the guard said, looking back toward the promenade.
I looked around him, catching sight of the horse in the moonlight. “I’ll bring him back when I can,” I said then passed the guard who stood staring at me. “Hop to it, man. There is a menace in these woods.”
“What…what do I tell the others we’re on the lookout for?” the guard called.
A demon. “A kidnapper. Disguised as a satyr.”
“Are you…Are you serious?”
“Do I look like I’m joking? I have on the red cape. You should expect the weird. Get to work, solider,” I said. Finding the guard’s steed, I mounted the horse and headed away from the park. I knew almost nothing about hunting demons. Luckily, there was one person in our agency who was renowned for the task. And it was the one person I was happiest to have an excuse to visit. Agent Hunter.
Chapter 9: Meanwhile, in Covent Garden
I rode the guard’s horse to Covent Garden where Agent Hunter lived. The townhouse—not a flat—was located in a block that had once been very fashionable before Londoners had decided Mayfair was the better choice for those of wealth and distinction. Either Agent Hunter was making a far better salary than he let on or had acquired some wealth due to inheritance. Both points were of interest to me. But then, everything about Agent Hunter was of interest to me. Which was how I knew where he lived. Apparently, he’d hosted a gathering when he first took over from Agent Greystock, but I’d still been in Nottingham recovering and had missed it, a point I always regretted after getting a look at him. Now I had a good reason to stop by.
The first light of dawn burned off the darkness and turned the sky a hazy yellowish-gray color. It was freezing, and I was exhausted. I tied the horse to a pole outside, went to the townhouse door, and rang.
And then I waited.
A lamplighter was working his way down the street toward me, singing a carol as he went. I stood rubbing my hands together as he hummed the last lines of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.”
“Early morning, miss?” he called, stopping to extinguish the lamp nearest Agent Hunter’s house.
“Late night, actually.”
He chuckled. “Good weather for a hot toddy.”
“Or three.”
“Or four!”
We laughed.
There was a click as the door opened.
“Yes?”
I looked back to see a bedraggled butler at the door. “My apologies. Good morning. It is imperative that I speak to Agent Hunter.”
The man cleared his throat, slid his spectacles down his nose, and studied me.
“Please tell him Agent Louvel is here.”
“Very well,” the man said then closed the door behind him.
Rubbing my hands together, I turned to watch the lamplighter work his way down the street. He whistled a merry tune, another Christmas carol, as he walked. At first, I paid little attention to it, thinking only of a hot toddy and a warm bath. My mind tripped over the idea that Agent Hunter likely had a large, claw-footed tub somewhere in his stylish townhouse, and that it could, no doubt, fit two. I was about to plunge into the fantasy when the lamplighter’s song—he’d switched to actually singing the lyrics rather than whistling—caught my attention.
“Five golden rings. Four colly birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree,” he sang then started the song over once more, rounding back to the sixth day of Christmas.
Five golden rings.
Four colly birds.
Three French hens.
Two turtle doves?
And a partridge in a pear tree.
“Agent Louvel?” a voice called from the door behind me.
I turned and looked back to find Agent Hunter standing there in fitness clothing, his hands taped in the manner of a boxer, sweat dripping from his brow.
“I…Agent Hunter…good. I need your help,” I said as I stepped past him and into the foyer of his home, counting on my fingers as I went.
“Help? With what? It’s not even dawn. Is that…is that a palace guard horse?”
“Uh, yes. I borrowed him from a guard at the Mall. Listen, it’s not a wolf abducting the children,” I said then leaned in closer to Agent Hunter so his butler couldn’t hear. “It’s a demon. I saw him—and shot him—last night. But I lost his trail in the Mall. He was about to abduct another child when I chased him down.”
“A demon? Are you certain?” Agent Hunter asked, closing the door behind me as he began to peel the tape off his hands.
“Very.”
Agent Hunter nodded. “Martin, please escort Agent Louvel to the library. I…” he said then looked down at his attire. “I’ll change and join you in a moment. I was exercising.”
I could not prevent myself from following his gaze down across his open-necked blousy shirt to his pugilist's pants, skintight fitness trousers favored by bare-knuckled boxers. They were far too tight and very revealing. To my shock, I felt a blush rise to my cheeks. I looked away.
“Um. O-okay,” I said stupidly. Well done, Clemeny.
Agent Hunter coughed abashedly. “Martin, please ask Marianna to prepare breakfast for Agent Louvel.”
“Very well, sir. This way, Agent,” the butler said then motioned for me to follow him.
The man led me to the library toward the back of the townhouse. The walls were lined from floor to ceiling with books. A tall window looked out on the small, enclosed conservatory in the back of the house. Despite the fact that a scattering of snowflakes fell on the windowpanes above the greenhouse, leafy green plants and flowers grew in the small space. A fire was already burning in the hearth. I went beside it and warmed myself. I eyed the room with great curiosity. A long table in the middle of the library was stacked with books and scattered with notes. I could see that Agent Hunter had been researching lore. He had a map of Carfax Sanatorium laid out as well as a yellowed map of the ancient ruins of Roman Londinium.
I scanned the room. A chair had been pulled close to the fireplace. A small stack of books, a pipe, and a tin of tobacco sat on the table beside it. But no lady’s portrait kept Agent Hunter company. And there was only one chair by the fire, not two. Good.
The door opened once more, and Agent Hunter reappeared. He wore a pair of simple gray wool trousers, a waistcoat, and a clean shirt. It was apparent he’d dressed with some urgency. He was still unshaven.
“I am sorry to intrude like this,” I said. Liar. “But I need your help.”
“Of course,” he said then motioned for me to come sit at the table. “You said you shot it?”
“Yes.”
“With what?”
“Silver bullet.”
Agent Hunter nodded. “Silver, of course, can harm a demon but not kill it. No gun can. The only way to rid ourselves of a demon is to determine what manner of creature he is and then vanquish him.”
“What do you mean?”
�
�Demons…some are conjured, some rise of their own volition, some are born. Some are named and walk among us like men.”
“Like werewolves.”
“Yes. They cloak themselves in the guise of humanity. These are the beasts that occupy my days,” he said then slid a black and white photograph toward me, tapping on a man in the picture. The image was of a gathering of lords and ladies. There was one man in the assembled group whose eyes glowed bright white.
“What I saw was more satyr than man,” I said then went on to describe the creature.
Agent Hunter frowned. He rose and went to the bookshelf, grabbed a book, then sat beside me once more, sliding his seat close to mine. When he did so, I realized he must have washed up when he re-dressed. To my great delight, I caught the heavy scent of cologne with a hint of cinnamon. I inhaled deeply then let out a slow breath.
“Very strange,” Agent Hunter said as he leafed through the book. “Conjured, perhaps. In which case we must hunt the mage, not the monster. But if he loosened himself from the Otherworld for some purpose, then he has a goal he will fulfill before he returns.”
“Returns?” I said, turning to look at Agent Hunter, eyeing the light smattering of freckles on his nose and cheeks. They were…charming.
To my surprise, Agent Hunter was looking closely at me. His studied my face. “Your eye,” he said, nodding to my mooneye. “Do you—I hope you don’t mind me asking—but can you see from the eye at all?”
I nodded. “Some. Shapes, really. And some colors, but more like the glow of color than anything sharp. I’m told I’m quite lucky to have use of it at all.”
Insecure thoughts swept over me. I had been considered very pretty—a sweet, pixie-like face, dark eyes, long black hair—before the injury. I knew I wasn’t attractive anymore. On good days, I didn’t think about it at all. On bad days, I knew I looked like a freak. I shifted in my seat.
“Sorry,” Agent Hunter said. “I don’t mean to pry. I had a tutor who had a mooneye. But he…well, he claimed he could see fairies because of it. I just wondered if you—”
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