by Elle Jasper
Although my initial reaction is anxiety, it’s over in an instant. I’m not scared of her. I don’t know why, but I’m not. Something about her intrigues me, and I have a strong feeling she’s probably the same creepy kid who scared the life out of that professor so long ago. I wonder what she wants. I have to remember to ask Gabriel about her later. There has to be a reason why she is seeking me out over all the others.
I hold her gaze for a moment more. I think we might be having a staring contest, and since I’ve had several with not only my baby brother but also with my dog, Chaz, and won them all, I’ll see how I hold up with a naughty, creepy Victorian kid spirit.
Several moments later, she disappears.
Riley, one. Creepy little dead girl, zip.
The creaking of the Crescent’s gates draws my attention, and I notice they’re closing. Peter is hurrying to a side door and quickly disappears inside. As a group, the WUP team begins to move toward the front entrance. I glance up at the dark sky. Clouds shift, stretching across the half-moon, and a few stars shine through. A coldness drifts across the courtyard and whisks in through the doorway behind us.
And with it, that thing I’m starting to recognize more clearly. It’s actually becoming a nuisance.
Dread.
And that’s when I hear it. Softly, at first—so barely there I almost think I imagined it. Then I hear it again. It sounds like it’s coming from the street. By Bene’s, maybe? Close. It’s a kid’s voice. A boy. Teenager. He’s whimpering. Without a thought, I stand, listening.
“Ri, you coming?” Eli says from the doorway.
“Yeah, just a minute,” I answer. I glance at him. “I’ll be right in.”
Eli stares at me for a moment, then cocks his head. “You okay?”
I smile. “Yep,” I answer. “Just gathering my thoughts. I’m coming.”
More stares, then a nod. He follows the others inside and closes the door. Eli learned a long time ago to allow me space. This is one of those times I need it.
I hear the whimper again, and I turn my gaze toward the gates. I focus on the boy’s voice, and everything silences but him. The gates are crystal clear, and I head straight to them. In one leap, I’m over the wrought iron and am hurrying along the cobbles to the street. The boy’s voice, his whimpers, is closer. Clearer. I turn left and jog up the sidewalk. Another set of gates come into view, and, glancing around, I leap those, too. It’s a church. The whimpers are coming from behind it. I hug the wall, easing around the old stone building. A cemetery stretches out behind the church, and across the graveyard I feel it. Another presence. With the boy. No heartbeat, though. Not a good sign. At least I hear the boy’s heart. Fast, but strong.
Hurrying across the graveyard, I slip over the ground soundlessly. I see shadows coming from a hollowed-out tomb. Peeking inside, I find the boy crouching in the corner. Alone. His eyes widen when he sees me, and I press my finger to my lips, shushing him. The boy shakes his head, and his eyes dart behind me. I glance. Almost too late.
I leap high, bounding off the wall of the tomb, and land in a crouch several feet away. Before me, bathed in moonlight, an otherbeing. I’m guessing a vampire. Tall. Wearing dark jeans. Black T-shirt. Black jacket. Gray skully. Maybe midtwenties. At least, that’s how old he looks.
“Plus a few hundred years, darlin’,” he says in a heavy brogue. “You’re a nice surprise.”
I glance at the boy, still crouched in the corner of the tomb. “Run, kid. Get out of here. Now.”
The boy doesn’t move. He’s quivering in his shoes. And from the smell of it, he’s peed his pants. I use a stronger suggestion. “Get outta here, kid. Now. Go home to your family. Stay off the streets.”
This time, the kid scrambles out of the tomb and hauls ass out of the cemetery. When I turn back to the guy, he’s right in front of me.
His face suddenly blurs, shifts form, and his fangs drop. Not just two incisors. All of them. Jagged, sharp fangs that look like they can bite a head off.
He grabs for me, but I duck, leaping out of his grasp and rolling across the stone and rock. I jump to my feet and he’s staring at me. His eyes are opaque. And before I can blink, he’s got me by the throat. My toes leave the ground.
“Think you can escape me, little human bitch?” he says smoothly. He slams me on the ground, then pushes his foot into my chest. “You cannot.” Dropping to one knee, he draws close to me. “This will be . . . interesting.” Lightning fast, he kicks my jaw. My head snaps to the side. He’s damn fast. And he’s grinning at me. Pissing me the fuck off.
My hand slips to my waist, and I pull out my blade. Pressing the tip to his spine, I smile. “Yeah. It will—”
He’s suddenly off of me, his body slamming into the trunk of an old tree. Eli is completely morphed. “Babe, your blade?”
I leap to my feet, aim my blade at the newcomer, and throw. Hard. It buries to the hilt. Eli backs up, just as the body begins shuddering. The vamp drops to the ground. Dead.
Walking over, I kick my blade out of the vampire pile and pick it up. I wipe the blade on my pants and glance at Eli. “He was about to kill a kid. I heard him whimpering from the Crescent.”
Eli drapes an arm over my shoulder and we quit the cemetery. “I’m guessing he got away?”
I lean into him. “Yeah. He was scared shitless. But he finally ran.” We’re under a streetlight, and I look up into Eli’s face. “I had him.”
Eli chuckles. “I know you did. I might give you space, darlin’, but if you think I’m going to just let you run off into the city to fight bad guys alone”—he kisses me on the nose—“you’re crazy.”
Much later, we’re all in the study, going over maps of Old Town. In front of Eli and me, an intricate layout of the vaults. An entire network—no, an entire town—once existed beneath Edinburgh.
“With poor or virtually no ventilation and at times inhuman living conditions, many inhabitants died there,” Jake says. “Candlemakers, whiskey merchants, shoe cobblers; they all had businesses below the city. As I said before, the plague wiped out most of them, and the vaults were left untouched for centuries. Superstitious lot, the Scots, and for good reason.” He grins. “All those cold wisps of air and hair-raising spectral shoves are, in fact, real.”
I just stare at him.
“There are any numbers of places to hide down there,” Darius adds. “But we’ve a suspicion, based on what we know about these particular Fallen, that they use the vaults strictly as a place of torture,” he says, his face solemn. “For their victims.”
I shudder at the thought. “So where will we find them?” I ask. “And how do we keep them from knowing who and what we are?” Although one, I believe, already knows me.
“Once you’re spotted the first time, that’s it,” Jake says. “They already know of Gabriel, me, and Ms. Maspeth,” he says, inclining his head toward Sydney, who still pores over the old Celtae tomes. “Your element of surprise won’t last long.” He looks at me. “Use it wisely. As for us,” he continues, “Gabriel has charmed this place. They can’t reach beyond our gates.”
Well that’s a relief.
“Their tastes run exquisitely high,” Darius adds. “And in their search for the relics they seek out high-priced antique auctions, among other gatherings.”
“Charity balls, for example,” Gabriel says. He looks at me. “For the women.”
“If you are part of the brethren who killed the Celtae in the first place,” asks Ginger, looking up from her map of Old Town, “how is it you can’t read those tomes?”
Darius sighs and shoves his hand through his hair. “Because despite our daring overtaking of the Celtae, they were wily,” he says. “They used the curse of illiteracy against all of us.” He looks at Sydney. “The only way I could counteract it was to target Ms. Maspeth’s fate as the Archivist.” His gaze moves back to me. “She unwillingly sacrificed her entire life to become one of us. Left her home, her family, her job.”
“It is what it i
s,” Sydney says without looking up. “This is what I do now.”
Darius nods. “We’ve all sacrificed. Without it, mankind would be in peril.”
“You mean ‘serious shit,’” Noah says, looking up from his own map of the city. He scratches his ear. “I’m restless,” he says, stands and stretches, and crosses the floor to stand next to where I sit. “I need to go for a run.” He thumps my head and looks at me. “Ri?”
“Yep,” I say, and look at Eli. I crack my knuckles. “How ’bout you?”
“I need Miles to stay,” Jake says. “Gabriel and I have a few things to go over with him.”
I stand and pat Noah on the head. “Sorry, old boy,” I grin. “Maybe next time.”
Noah growls under his breath.
I look over at the lupines. “How ’bout you guys?” Then at Victorian. “Vic?”
“Pass,” they all say at once.
I shrug. “Suit yourselves.” I grin at Eli. “Race you to the monument?”
“Winner gets ice cream,” he says. “Vittoria’s.” A grin stretches his face. “Found it earlier.”
“You’re on.” I glance at my clunky boots. “I gotta change.”
“Me, too,” Eli says.
We both head up the stairs and are ready in two minutes. I pull on what I wore to train in, except I secure my silver dirk beneath the waistline of my Lycra pants. I pull on black Nikes and braid my hair into a long tail on the way down the steps. Just before we come into view of the hall, Eli pulls me to a stop. His body crowds mine, and I lean against the wall. With a knuckle he tilts my head upward to meet his stare. He says nothing, just . . . stares. Then he lowers his head and brushes his lips over mine. A shot of fire stings my veins as Eli’s tongue caresses mine and his hand slips behind my neck and holds my head in just the right position. He kisses me slowly, with intent. When he pulls back, I’m breathless.
“I love you, Riley Poe,” he whispers, and brushes a finger over my cheek. “My soon-to-be wife.”
I smile at him, slip my arms around his waist, and fall into his embrace. “I love you, Eligius Dupré.” I grab his ass and squeeze, and he laughs into my hair. “Forever.”
“I’m literally going to throw up this time.”
With a start, I turn. Noah stands at the bottom of the steps, his arms crossed over his chest. That crazy mass of dreads is pulled back into some sort of a ponytail. Contained anyway. “Jealous?” I ask, and bat my eyes.
Noah’s mercury eyes shine. “Absolutely.” He looks at Eli. “Lucky fu—”
“I suggest you take a left out of the gates to Parliament, then cross over to Carlton, then to Waterloo, past Waverly Station,” Jake interrupts Noah’s swear. “And stay to the shadows if possible. Too much gossip about a pair of crazed free runners may cause unwanted attention.”
Eli gives him a nod, then looks down at me. Wordlessly, he inclines his head toward the door. “We are masters at hiding our free-running talents.”
“Good,” Jake states. “Make sure it stays that way.”
“You wanna go, Andorra?” I ask, smiling. “Test your skills against a little ole human with tendencies?”
Jake grins. “Another time, Poe.”
I feel not only Noah’s eyes on me as I leave, but Victorian’s, as well. Worrywarts. Neither will ever get used to the idea that I can handle myself. Eli worries, too, but he’s learned to keep most of it to himself. Besides, I’m with a vicious vampire. When provoked, he’s as rabid as a sick badger on crack.
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Eli says outside.
I give him a smile. “You know what will?” I say.
Eli cocks his head and grins. “What?”
I sink my elbow in his ribs. “That!”
I take off.
Eli takes off after me. Swearing. In French.
“Shall I open the gates, lass?” Peter calls from behind me.
“No, thanks!” I reply, and take one leap to clear the tall, wrought-iron monsters. Landing in a crouch in the shadows, Eli drops right beside me. He glances at me and grins, and we both turn left at a normal run. A mortal run. A few people are still on the streets—late-night revelers, college kids.
We make it almost to Parliament, where it’s darker, and turn left onto Carlton. Not much activity, so we pick up the pace. I look over at him. “To the top of the monument,” I clarify. “The pointy part.”
Eli simply grins.
Its two thirty a.m., and even the black cabs have thinned out. Much of Edinburgh is quiet, including Vittoria’s, which means no ice cream tonight. For the most part, though, this street is safe. Staying close to the stone buildings, the shadows, we free run. Bounding off walls, garden gates, and tree trunks, we move swiftly, silently, at speeds a mortal can’t possibly conceive. I can barely conceive it. I’m pretty positive that even if we do pass a mortal, their eyes couldn’t follow our movements. Not enough to actually see what they think they saw.
Eli has trouble keeping up with me, and I fight not to laugh out loud. My body feels good, healthy, strong, and I stretch the strides a bit more. My skin and the Lycra feel one and the same. Wind must be moving through my lungs, because I am a mortal, after all, yet I’m not winded. Not one bit. It’s as though I’m standing still, unmoving. Or flying.
We hit Waterloo Place and really open up. In the heart of the city there are plenty of shadowy places to hide, and we take advantage of them. I’m ahead of Eli now, and I’m determined to reach the top of that damn monument before he does.
Waverly Station comes into view and I head toward it. Pass it. Hit Princes Street and slow down long enough to find shadows again, then turn up the speed. The monument is, like, right there—tall, spindly, and stabbing the sky—and after a few leaps onto the aged stone spires, I’m climbing. Hand over hand. Faster. Jagged stone scrapes my palms as I ascend, closer to the top of the spire.
I grab the point and brace myself against the wind whipping me. At this height, I can see the whole city. Exhilaration fills me, and I want to shout but I don’t. Instead I look down, readying myself to have my ankle yanked by Eli.
Eli isn’t here.
My eyes scan the spire and farther down the monument. The street below me is empty. I don’t see him anywhere. Shit! Eligius Dupré, where the hell are you?
For a second, no answer. My heart skips, and I descend the monument. From twenty feet I drop to the ground and stay in the shadows of the aged arched stone, waiting. Adrenaline fills me—a condition that has begun since my heart now beats so slowly. A frantic feeling is slipping inside of me, and I call again.
Eli, goddamn it! You better answer me. Swear to God, this isn’t funny!
No answer. My eyes scan Princes Street and back toward Waverly Station. The more I see nothing and the more Eli doesn’t answer me inside my head, the more frantic I become. It’s not like him to be silent. Especially when it comes to me. And especially when he knows we’re facing unknown shit in Edinburgh. I begin to move through the streets. Closer to the train station.
It’s not quite three a.m., and Waverly’s insides are dark and closed up. The station itself is huge, and I’ve already watched a security car go by twice. I’m in the shadows, and no way do they see me. Something is drawing me here, and I can’t identify it other than gut feeling.
And it’s not a good one.
Eli, if you’re fucking with me, I will not forgive you. Swear to God I mean it.
No way. No freaking way is he screwing with me. Something’s up and I know it. My insides feel icy with fear. This is completely out of Eli’s character.
I stop a second, lean my back against the stone wall, and think. Concentrate. Get your head together, Poe.
Listen.
Inhale.
I smell it first. It’s coming from inside the station. And that’s where I’ll be in five seconds.
Slipping into a place as big as Waverly Station in the heart of Edinburgh isn’t easy. Looking over, I see the reddish stone main building of Waverly rising sk
yward, complete with its clock tower. I make my way closer. I get to the closed and locked outer gate of one of the station’s car entrances, leap over that gate easily enough, and jog down the paved ramp and through the underground tunnel. It’s dark, with only a few lamps casting a little light ahead of me. The main entrance is locked. Too bad metal doesn’t work the same way a soul’s mind does, or I’d force it open. Instead I place my palms against the steel, press my weight against my arms, and push. Hard.
Hard enough to bend the steel hinges. I push until it gives—a large-enough gap for me to squeeze through. Inside the station, it’s dimly lit and vacant. Store merchants are closed down, roll cages in place, lights off. The big arrival/departure board is black. The stench is nauseating. The silence is nearly deafening. At least until I tune in.
A voice—in a language I’m completely unfamiliar with—vibrates in my ears. Rather, in my mind. It barely sounds human. So what the hell is it? There are no human words, not in this station anyway. I fine-tune my hearing by concentrating on my immediate surroundings, so the sounds from a mile away, up the street, in people’s homes, the pubs, the police department, don’t filter in. I turn my head. It’s coming from . . . closer to the tracks. Hugging the wall, I ease silently on the rubber soles of my shoes, through the shadows. As I near a sign that says PLATFORM 11, I slip over the bar, and move closer. The incoming track is empty; a vacant train waits on the other track, lights off. When I look left, toward the exit, the tracks disappear into the darkness.
That’s when I see them. At the end of the platform, where concrete meets tunnel wall and eventually, blackness.
They’re with Eli. But it’s not what I expect.
My heart drops.
There’re seven of them. Punks. As far as I can tell, just mortal older teenagers. Maybe even a gang. Why the hell aren’t they saying anything? And what’s that stench?
They speak.
“You’ll leave here wi’ us, freak,” says one to Eli. The guy’s tall with short-clipped dark hair and multiple piercings, and dressed in dark jeans frayed at the bottoms and a dark wool coat. “Dunna know how you got here, but you ain’t stayin’.” He shoves Eli square in the chest. Eli stumbles backward. “Ya ken, freak?”
