The Pact of the White Blade Knights

by Barbara Russell

  It was as if Aleximanus’s heart had been ripped from his chest and cut in half. “Kaela.”

  She was there, in front of him. Or rather, her projection was. The Hierophant himself, despite feeling solid, wasn’t really here. He broadcast his presence from the hellish hole where he lived. Still, Aleximanus hadn’t seen Kaela in years.

  He went to spring up to his feet, but the Hierophant’s hand forced him down, the scorching fingers digging painfully in Aleximanus’s head.

  “Do not move,” the Hierophant hissed.

  Aleximanus’s chest rose and fell quickly. She looked so much like her mother. Same hair, eyes, and tiny nose, only her body was thin and frail, and cuts and bruises covered her skin.

  “Father.” She stretched out an arm, her fingertips almost touching him, but the Hierophant shoved her away. Even her voice sounded like Chloe’s.

  “I thought you wanted to see her.” The Hierophant captured a lock of Kaela’s hair and let it slip between his fingers. “See how beautiful she’s become.”

  Swift rage burned in his vein, readying Aleximanus to fight, to kill the Hierophant.

  “Don’t be afraid.” The Hierophant’s voice sounded soothing, gentle even. “Your work for me is coming to an end. I won’t keep her away from you any longer. You’ll both be freed, forever, if you do one last thing for me.”

  He sank his fingernails in his palms. “What do you want?”

  “Hazel.” Disgust and awe dripped in the Hierophant’s tone. “I want her either dead or as my next sin-breather. She’s Tyon’s half. If they remain together, they’ll become a powerhouse. I sent an anger-breather after her, but she survived.”

  A cold spiral of panic curled around Aleximanus. The Hierophant could’ve asked him to turn off the sun. It’d be easier to assassinate the queen. “She’s protected by a mark drawn by the Monk himself, and Sebastyon never leaves her side.”

  “Don’t kill anyone for me, Father.” Kaela stepped closer, but the Hierophant slapped her with the back of his hand.

  Aleximanus snarled, anger turning his vision red.

  “Silence.” The Hierophant clenched a hand into Kaela’s hair and pulled until her head tilted back, exposing her white throat and pulsating veins. She let out a soft gasp and arched her back.

  “The choice is easy. Either you bring me Hazel, or your beautiful daughter will be my new bride.” He pulled her close and ran his tongue over the white column of her neck.

  “No!” Aleximanus’s dark power burst within him, an angry tide that swept everything in its path. The floor cracked. A Grecian column split in half, and the dry blood melted into fresh pools. The Hierophant would never have his daughter, turning her soul into a foul, corrupted creature that tainted everything it touched. He roared, his breath like a hurricane.

  The Hierophant unleashed his power. Sickening green light filled the church and scorched Aleximanus’s skin. He pushed his energy forwards, using every ounce of his wrath. Chloe had been slaughtered while protecting Kaela. He wouldn’t let her sacrifice be wasted.

  “Father, stop!” Kaela’s choked sob was a dagger to his chest. “Please, stop. He’ll kill you. Don’t leave me alone.”

  No. If he died, no one would save her. Tyon didn’t even know she existed, and the if Aleximanus asked Tyon’s help, the Hierophant would kill Kaela. Breathing hard, he called his power. It clawed his body as a beast that didn’t want to be caged again. Then the Hierophant’s laugh ricocheted off the walls. Kaela’s sobs faded, and her frame blurred.

  The Hierophant put a foot on Aleximanus’s head and pushed him against the floor. “You’ll bring me Hazel or her corpse. Turn her into a sin-breather, or kill her, whichever you prefer.”

  A choking sensation gripped his throat. Hazel. He didn’t know her well, but her clear eyes and kind smile struck a chord inside him. She didn’t deserve to have her soul dammed.

  The Hierophant removed his foot. “You have your orders.”

  In a green cloud, he dissolved, bringing Kaela with him.

  Aleximanus stared at the spot where his daughter had been. He pressed his fingers on his aching chest. He could send his sin-breathers against Tyon and use them as diversion to kidnap Hazel. But a question remained. If the Hierophant wanted Hazel, why didn’t he take her himself?

  ~ * ~

  TYON READ THE last address William had given him and strode along the pavement of Cromwell Road heading for The Herbalist—one of the oldest drug stores in London. He grimaced as a pang shot through his side. The wound was healed, but the flesh was still a bit stiff.

  Hazel paused when they walked past the museum, her gaze darting around as if she wanted to memorise every detail of the yellow brick walls and arched windows.

  He stepped next to her, wishing to pull her into a hug and hide her face in his chest. Her pain strained the line of her jaw, and a phantom ache hit him.

  “I promise, we’ll find a way to give you your job back,” he said, touching her hand with a finger.

  A raven tendril escaped the chignon and flapped around her neck. He couldn’t stop himself. He caught the silky strand and tucked it behind her ear.

  She turned to him. Sunset light gilded the soft curve of her cheek and plush fullness of her lips. “What will happen once we free the hallow and you won’t need me anymore?”

  “I will always need you.” The words flowed out before he could stop them. But as soon as he pronounced them, he knew, deep inside his soul, they were true. Yet, he had a quest to complete and wouldn’t risk her life for his selfishness, for keeping her close.

  She took his hand in hers. His energy was back, but no surge of power shook his core. No earthquake troubled the ground. He was becoming accustomed to her touch despite the fact that his desire hadn’t diminished. Indeed, it grew the longer he stayed with her.

  A lady shot them a glare, and a gentleman with a child hurried away, muttering something about a scandalous behaviour in broad daylight.

  A flush blossomed in Hazel’s cheeks, and she released his hand. “We’d better go and talk with this last apothecary before his shop closes.”

  The knot of anxiety in his stomach didn’t loosen. “I hope we’ll learn something interesting this time.”

  “Yes, you’ve spent enough money to bribe chemists.” She tugged her gloves and flashed a bright smile that put the sun into shame.

  The Herbalist took up a corner of Cromwell Road. With its stained-glass windows and double door, it looked like a church. No bell dinged when he swung the door inwards.

  So far the drug stores had been all the same. Dusty shelves of jars and pots, stuffy air smelling of burned spices, and old parchment. But this one was different. The shelves were scrubbed to star-brightness, and the wooden floor was so polished his frame mirrored in it. The clean scent of lavender teased his nostrils.

  “This one is different,” Hazel murmured. “It smells nice.”

  A dark-haired man stood at the counter, reading a logbook, and lifted his gaze when Tyon approached. “I was about to close, but I have a few more minutes for you. How can I help?”

  “Are you the owner, Mr Benjamin Scott?”

  “I am he.”

  Tyon focused on the man. Dark wisps erupted from Benjamin’s head, mixing with a few blue tendrils. Benjamin had a few serious sins on his soul, or a sin-breather infused him with evil. Tyon parted his lips and inhaled, the ancient words of the spell echoing in his mind.

  Ex tenebris, ad lucem. Ex umbrae, ad solem.

  The dark tendrils writhed and snapped, flogging the air like a cat’s tail. He sucked harder as Benjamin raked a gaze over Hazel. The foul taste of sin, the taste of rotting flesh, filled his lungs. Yet the more he ate the sins the more they opposed resistance, becoming angrier than before.

  He broke the connection and swallowed hard. Apparently, Benjamin loved being evil and was attached to his sins, likely proud of them. Just like the Davis chap he’d interrogated at the police station. Whoever sin-breather spilled evil inside
Benjamin was the same who did that work to Davis.

  Tyon clicked his tongue. He did what he could for humans, but if they believed evil was the path to take, he couldn’t save them.

  “What can I do for you?” Benjamin smirked as if he knew Tyon couldn’t eat his sins. They had to be particularly old and reinforced by years of repeating them. Easy terrain for a sin-breather.

  Tyon loosened his collar. “We need information.”

  The smile disappeared. “About what?”

  “We know you sold atropine to a person, promising to hide their names from the logbook.” He put a fist on the counter, hoping Benjamin believed his bluff. They didn’t have any proof Benjamin sold anything. It was only William’s whisper. “I want their names.”

  Benjamin drummed his fingers on the accounting register open in front of him. “I see. Are you a copper?” he asked, his tone flat, almost bored. “No wait, you can’t be, or you would’ve showed me your badge and a warrant first.”

  “Don’t worry about who I am and answer. I won’t disturb your activity, I promise.”

  Benjamin cradled his shaven chin, his gaze wandering over Hazel again, causing a surge of fury inside Tyon.

  “I won’t do anything for nothing, you know,” Benjamin said.

  Tyon pulled out his wallet, but Benjamin tsked, shaking a finger to say ‘no.’

  “I’m not interested in money.” His voice turned as slimy as a muddy pig.

  “Then in what are you interested in?” Tyon growled, shoving his wallet in the pocket.

  Benjamin pointed a finger at Hazel. “The lady.”

  “How dare you,” Hazel said at the same time Tyon shouted, “The hell you are.”

  “She isn’t my type. Too thin, and lips too big, but I feel generous today. That’s my price.” Benjamin didn’t flinch. “I don’t ask for a lot, half an hour with the lady alone. Even here, in the back of my shop.” He bent forwards, flashing his smile. “I think it’s a fair bargain. You keep your money, I’ll give you the information you want, and the lady enjoys herself.”

  Seething anger flared up in Tyon’s chest. His vision darkened at the edges, and a pulsating halo beat in tempo with his heart. Hazel said something, but her voice sounded distant.

  He unsheathed his white dagger and clutched Benjamin’s throat, wishing to crush it. “I have a counter-proposal.” He slithered the sharp edge over Benjamin’s skin. “What if you give me the information I want, and you keep your pitiful heart where it is instead of bleeding on the floor?”

  Benjamin swallowed hard, and his Adam’s apple slipped underneath the blade.

  “I’m not a fucking copper, and ain’t no angel either. You give me what I ask, or I’ll just take it.”

  The floor shook. A crack split the tile and ran across the room like a bolt of lightning, ripping wood and stone. A jar twirled on the shelf and fell on the floor with a loud thud. It shattered into a mess of sharp china shards, and a dark red powder spilled, releasing the scent of turmeric.

  Hazel gripped the counter as she staggered on her feet.

  A drop of sweat trickled down Benjamin’s chin. He tried to turn around towards the shaking shelves, but Tyon held him in place.

  “What’s your answer, cur?” he gritted out.

  “Tyon.” Hazel put a hand on his arm. “This isn’t you. This isn’t what you do,” she whispered.

  The phoenix in her palm glittered for a moment, and soothing warmth seeped into him. The counter stopped rattling, and the crack creeping up the wall skidded to an abrupt halt. His anger coiled back in his gut, not sated but tamed by Hazel’s touch.

  The white blade had drawn blood from Benjamin’s skin, and ruby drops stained his starched white collar. Tyon removed his hand and blinked at Benjamin’s sparkling aura.

  Somehow, during his outburst, he managed to eat the apothecary’s sins. Their taste lingered in his mouth. Benjamin’s aura sparkled with a blinding snowy light that shed a silver hue on the walls.

  Benjamin held up his palms, shivering so hard his teeth chattered. “I, I’ll bring you all the information you need.” Walking backwards without taking his eyes off Tyon, he lurched out of the room.

  Tyon wiped his clammy brow and sheathed the white blade. A light tremor took hold of his hands, the tendons on relief underneath his skin.

  “Are you all right?” Hazel cupped his face, her lilac eyes hot with worry. “I’ve never seen you so enraged. I was worried the shop would crumble upon us.” Her thumbs stroked his cheeks, and for once, her touch didn’t stir any illicit pleasure, just calm, peace, and love. Which was ironic. Her touch had always ignited his power.

  He leaned against her palm. “It might’ve happened if you hadn’t stopped me in time.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Thank you for standing up for me, but next time, let me handle the situation before destroying everything.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll remember that.”

  Soft footfalls padded, and Benjamin came closer with measured steps, a hand closed around the shallow cut on his neck, the other carrying a logbook. “Only one person asked me to buy off-record atropine.” He scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to Tyon, arm shaking. “He didn’t say his name, but I had one of my lads follow him, and this is the address.”

  Tyon exchanged a glance with Hazel. Primrose Place, Maida Vale. It was the address of Reginald, the chap who had courted Rachel.

  Chapter 15

  HAZEL READ REGINALD’s address again. He lived not far from Paddington Station in one of the exclusive street of Maida Vale. Tyon walked next to her on the pavement of Cromwell Road after they’d left Benjamin shaking and pale. The setting sun glinted off the museum’s walls, igniting them in a fierce red as if they were bleeding.

  “Do you think Reginald is the killer?” she asked.

  “He had the motive and the occasion. We’ll grab a cab and pay him a visit. If I clean his soul enough, he might confess to the crime if he did it.” He stretched out an arm and stopped a hansom cab.

  She folded the address and went to climb into the car when the flutter of a grey coat caught her eye. Leon was striding out of the museum’s main gate, bowler hat kept into place against the evening breeze.

  “I’ll be right back,” she tossed over her shoulder before running towards Leon.

  “Hazel?” Tyon straightened, a hand on the cab door, but didn’t stop her.

  “Just a moment.” She lifted the hem of her skirts. “Leon,” she called when he turned a sharp corner.

  He stopped and jolted when he saw her. “Hazel. Thank God.” He peered at her face. “What happened to you?”

  “Have you found my note? I’m sorry I had to take the items’ list without waiting for you. I was in a hurry.”

  He waved dismissively. “I was worried. I went to your apartment the other day and found it ransacked. The door was ajar, and the couch and armchairs were slashed. No one knew where you were. What happened?” he asked again.

  “Someone broke into my apartment, and I had to find another place to stay.”

  “A hotel room? You could’ve asked for help. I would’ve helped you.”

  “No, I”—she glanced behind her in the direction where Tyon was waiting for her—“I found another accommodation.”

  He plucked out his buckskin gloves and put a hand in his pocket. “If you need money, I can provide it.”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Hazel.” He lowered his head. “Are you in some kind of trouble? Your apartment has been looted, you disappeared, and you don’t want to tell me what’s going on.”

  “I’m Tyon’s . . . I mean, Mr Sancerre’s guest.”

  Leon leaned back, horror widening his eyes. “Did he hurt you?”

  “What? No, of course not. He’s been very kind and helpful.”

  “But you are in trouble.” He narrowed his gaze. “You can tell me anything, and I’ll help in any way I can.”

  “There’s something, actuall
y.” She troubled her bottom lip, an idea striking her mind. “It’s about Sir Morris.”

  “What did he do to you now?” An angry note vibrated in his voice.

  “Nothing. Did you know he’s a member of a club called The Sepulchre?”

  Leon scowled. “As a matter of fact, yes, I do. He asked me quite a few times to join him during one of the readings at the club. Why?”

  “Do you know he was courting Miss Rachel McCormack-Brighton? Did he tell you anything about her?”

  “For goodness’ sake.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I read about that poor girl. You can’t think he’s involved with this. He isn’t always a pleasant person, I understand that, but he isn’t a killer. And anyway, what do you have to do with this? Is it Sancerre? Did he put you up to this?”

  “No, Tyon didn’t put me up to this.” Hazel lowered her voice. How could she explain what happened with Tyon without involving witchcraft and sin-eaters? “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

  He stepped in front of her. “Are you sure about what you’re doing?” Deep concern rang in his tone. “I’d like to talk with Tyon.”

  “He’s right here, behind the corner.”

  “I’m in a hurry now.” He pulled up his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, can I visit you? I know where Tyon lives from the journalist’s report.”

  She shrugged. “I think I should ask Tyon first. It’s his house after all.”

  His expression softened. “You know I’m here for you, don’t you?

  “I know.”

  “I want to help and to talk with Tyon.”

  “I know. Thank you. You can talk to him whenever you want. Sorry, but I have to go.” She hurried back to Tyon. Her heels screeched on the pavement when she rounded the corner.

  He stood next to a hansom cab, chatting with Detective Harrisons. The officer took off his hat when she walked over to them.

  “Miss Hazel.” Harrisons bowed his head. “I have news about the incident in your apartment.”

  “Yes?” She shifted closer to Tyon, needing his reassuring presence.