Speaking of being inside that bitch’s body… She’d seen, heard, and felt everything that point in time had to offer, including the moment Eleanor pressed up against her friend—for lack of a better word to describe him—and shoved her tongue down his throat. It was a bit too much information. Since then, she’d had a hard time looking at Nye without thinking about the kiss. Puke.
Still, something the spirits revealed to her had her on edge.
Her mother, the last matriarch of the Unhallowed, had bidden Eleanor to bear the fruit of their salvation. What did that mean? And what did carving a rune into Nye have to do with it? What was so special about him they’d waited over four hundred years to strike? It couldn’t just be revenge, not after what Tristan had told her while he was still under Eleanor’s control. Then there was the matter of the Keeping Place. It seemed to hold something they needed.
Anyway, their end goal was simple. Eleanor wanted to resurrect the Unhallowed. All of them.
If Gabby never worked out what all those things meant, she wouldn’t understand how to stop Eleanor from reanimating her army of dark witches. A whole coven of wraiths and their tainted spirit magic unleashed on the world was bad news. More than bad news…it was headline news. How long would it be before they went on a rampage and began siphoning and sacrificing innocent humans? Not long at all.
There was a soft knock at the door, and she turned to find Reed hovering just outside.
“Are you ready to go?” the vampire asked, raising an eyebrow. “You look like you’re about to throw up.”
Reed was a new addition to the team, employed by Nye as a member of the new incarnation of the Six, and he’d fast proved his loyalty and worth. So much so, she’d invited him to come inside the manor.
Still, he was largely an unknown quantity. She didn’t even know how old he was. Outward appearance was not an indicator of a vampire’s age. Regulus hadn’t looked a day over thirty, but he had been over two thousand. At the thought of her lost love, she closed her eyes and shook her head.
“I’m fine,” she replied briskly. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”
He nodded but didn’t reply. All he did was wait calmly for her to collect her things and make a move.
In the wake of the ritual and her depleted powers, Gabby had ditched the human driver employed by Regulus and chosen a hardier employee—Reed—to take over her chauffeuring needs in the wake of their recent adventures. The vampire hardly looked the part in his black skinny jeans, boots, fitted T-shirt, and shirt opened at the collar. He looked like a bad boy greaser from the nineteen sixties. All that was missing was the hotrod with the flames painted on the hood.
Downstairs in the garage, he opened the back door to the sleek black sedan and waved her inside. Taking the front, he pressed the fob to open the roller door.
Finally, he glanced at her in the rearview mirror and asked, “Where to, ma’am?” Then he shot her a cheeky wink.
Hiding a smile, she fired her answer directly into his mind, Fulham Palace Road, Hammersmith.
“Geesus!” he cursed, almost jumping out of his skin.
“Sorry, did I tickle you a bit?”
“Dammit,” he exclaimed, starting the car. “I thought you were on mute.”
“I guess I’m charging up faster than I anticipated.”
“I’ll say,” he muttered as they pulled out onto the road and began their journey through the darkening streets of London.
Gabby watched the side of Reed’s face as he navigated the lingering peak hour traffic and wondered about him. He’d been extremely helpful throughout the whole Unhallowed debacle, and until Nye had plucked him from obscurity to become part of the Six, he’d never crossed her radar. All the vampires she’d known had turbulent pasts, and she wondered if his was the same.
“Where did you come from, anyway?” she asked rather suddenly.
Reed chuckled softy, giving away that he knew she’d been staring at him. “You get straight to the point, don’t you? Right to the crux of a vampire’s most personal experience.”
She shrugged as he flickered a glance at her in the mirror.
“How did you lose your virginity?” he asked abruptly, raising an eyebrow.
Knowing he was trying to make her feel uneasy, she shrugged again. “Jake Harrington. One-night stand when I was eighteen. It was terrible, and I never got a single thing out if it, if you know what I’m saying.” She held up her hand and wiggled her little finger. “Little, limp, and premature.”
Reed laughed, a full and hearty peal that had her smiling. “I like you,” he declared as he turned a corner. “You’re such an unashamed thing.”
“So where did you come from?” she asked again.
“I was a soldier before,” he replied, tipping his imaginary hat. “Cattle class.”
“Infantry?”
“Like I said, cattle class.”
Knowing there was a story behind his jovial attitude toward his past, she shook her head and let him be. Knowing how war had negatively affected her friend Zac Degaud, she knew pressing would do neither of them any good.
“How old are you, then?”
“Twenty-seven. Have been for a while now.”
Laughing at his blatant avoidance, she let him have that one. He’d tell her the story if he wanted to and not a moment before. Damn vampires.
The ride over to Hammersmith was smooth. Pushing away thoughts of the Unhallowed, for the time being, she pondered another pressing matter. This one, she actually had a lead on and was the very thing that had led her to an unassuming little block of flats by a flyover in the western part of London.
Yesterday, Isobel had mentioned to her she’d been tired but had put it down to plain human failings such as not enough sleep and stress. Unfortunately, Gabby could see things a little more clearly than most, and her sight told her the curse Eleanor had wrought had left its mark. If the wraith came back, it wouldn’t take much for her to reinstate it. She wouldn’t even have to be in the same room to focus her will on Izzy. It was just another item on the list of bad things that could happen anytime from now to a hundred years away.
Gabby was determined to be ready to counter the curse next time, though she hoped she wouldn’t have to. Preparation was nine-tenths of the law, after all.
Reed parked the car in the clearway outside the redbrick Tudor-style building and turned to face her. “Do you want me to wait? I can’t park here, but I can leave this beast around the corner and watch from afar.”
“Keep hidden,” she said, easing herself from the car. “Last thing we need is to announce our presence.”
He nodded and waited, letting the car idle as she closed the door and approached the entrance to the flat. Thankful he was lingering until she was well and truly inside, she raised her hand and knocked.
A second later, the door swung open, and an elderly lady appeared, her stature tiny compared to her own. Her white hair was cropped short, a cream blouse hung from her bony shoulders, a paisley skirt flowed past her knees, and her legs were covered in beige pantyhose while her feet were stuck in a pair of fluffy pink slippers. The woman’s skin might have been withered, but her eyes were sharp as an eagle’s as they passed over the witch on her doorstep.
“So that’s what you look like,” the woman said, squinting at Gabby. “A little younger than I presumed, but no one can tell these days.”
Gabby cocked an eyebrow.
“Plastic surgery, dear,” she said with a chuckle, her voice whistling a little. “Who’s got the time or energy to maintain a web of youth when the world is full of disgusting creatures?” She peered over Gabby’s shoulder at the car and scowled. “You can come in, but leave your…whatever it is…outside.”
She nodded. “That’s why I left him there. As you said, foul things are afoot, and it pays to have a hardy driver at one’s disposal.”
The woman smiled and waved her inside. “Come in then, dear. Do you like scones? I have a brand-new jar of raspberry jam from
the church farmer’s market if you’d like to try some. They have a darling little stall. I get a new flavor the first Saturday of every month.”
Gabby frowned at the juxtaposition of the lady before her but stepped into the house without hesitation. The door was closed behind her with a hearty slam, and she turned to face the woman.
“Now that he’s shut out, I can introduce myself. I’m Gloria. Earth witch, going on eighty-eight years…or so I tell people.”
“How long have you been eighty-eight?” she asked as she was lead into the witch’s home.
“A while, but they never remember.” Gloria giggled as she turned to her little kitchenette and put the kettle on. “Have a seat, dear, I’ll be right with you.”
While the elderly witch busied herself readying her spread of tea and scones, Gabby turned to the brightly lit flat. She didn’t know what she was expecting to see, but it wasn’t the wall of herbs, crystals, and grimoires her imagination had conjured. Before her was floral wallpaper, a mahogany and glass buffet full of porcelain figures of draft horses, a floral settee with a crocheted rug set on the back, various landscape paintings on the walls, a sepia portrait of a man in military uniform, and lace curtains adorning the windows. The kitchen was suitably bright and floral to match, and commemorative plates featuring various British royal family weddings were lined up over the little dining table.
Gently nudging the curtain aside, Gabby peered out of the window and saw the church sitting directly next door, not ten meters from where she now stood. Wondering if a ley line passed through it, she began to feel uneasy. Not all holy sites sat upon one, but she didn’t have the ability to sense out the earth power unless she was standing directly above it.
“St. Augustine’s,” Gloria said, nodding toward the window as she set down a tray laden with scones, jam, a little bowl of cream, a dish of sugar cubes, a teapot, and cups and saucers. She had a great deal of strength in her for her age, but Gabby knew better. Magic was in play.
“I like living close to holy ground,” Gloria went on. “Though most of the land here is concrete and cobblestones. There isn’t much soil nowadays.”
“How long have you lived here?” Gabby asked, allowing the curtain to flutter back into place.
“Oh, more years than I care to remember. I’m a fixture I’m afraid.” She sat gingerly in a well-worn armchair as Gabby perched gingerly on the settee. “Now, Gabrielle Cohen, shall we get down to business, or can I chastise you for scaring me half to death when you contacted me?”
She shifted nervously, knowing she’d given the witch a fright when she’d requested a meeting, not through a telephone call but a method much more fitting for witchy coercion. Telepathy and astral projection.
“I apologize for being rude,” she said. “There are many forces that wish me harm. I had to be sure. Frankly, I was surprised you knew who I was.”
Gloria pursed her lips. “Dear, everyone knows who you are.” She busied herself with the tray, then offered a plate to the young witch. “Scone?”
Taking the floral china from her gnarled fingers, Gabby smiled, totally thrown by Gloria’s sudden change back to a sweet little old lady. “Thank you.”
Pleased that she’d taken the scone, Gloria poured herself some tea. “Now I know there’s more to your story than you care to tell me. Most powerful witch alive, affinity with the ether, vampire lover, hybrid hunter, etcetera, etcetera… Nobody comes to see an old bat like me without wanting something.”
“I was told you have a rather specific specialization,” Gabby replied, getting straight to the point. Since her reputation had preceded her, there was no use attempting to be anything but direct.
Gloria sipped at her tea, then replied, “I do, much to my detriment it seems.”
“Do you know anything that could counteract a degenerative curse?”
“A curse? Well…”
“That’s your specialization, isn’t it?” Gabby raised her eyebrow. “I’m not here to render punishment, Gloria, if that’s why you’re sidestepping. I need help.”
“Ah, perhaps.” She set down her cup and saucer. “There are few people who come to see me with noble intentions. I had to be sure, also. Who do you want cursed?”
“No, I don’t want to curse anyone,” she exclaimed. “I want to know if a curse can be removed.”
Gloria snorted and shook her head. “No one can stop a curse once it’s latched on.”
Her heart began to sink. If there was no way to stop Eleanor from reigniting the poison she’d placed inside Isobel, then was her friend doomed no matter what she did? The wraith was so spiteful that Gabby knew the moment she siphoned enough energy to regain her human form, she’d go straight for Izzy. If the markers the curse had left behind couldn’t be removed, then there had to be a way to shield her.
“I have a friend,” Gabby began uneasily. “She was cursed with a degenerative spell, a black poison that threatened to drown her. It was lifted, but…”
“Its markers remain,” the old witch finished for her.
She nodded. “Is there any way to help her? Can the markers be removed?”
Gloria looked grave as she thought over Gabby’s question. “I know a way you might be able to put a stopper on it, but it wouldn’t remove the curse entirely. Whoever bears the poison will carry it the rest of their lives. Is your intent truly noble, dear?”
“I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but everything I’ve ever done was to save lives.”
“What about your vampire friends?”
“That’s a gray area, I admit it, but not all vampires are inherently evil. There are witches who have turned to darkness just as there are those who have remained in the light.” She raised an eyebrow at the elderly witch. “Then there are those with feet on both sides. We are not immune, and neither are vampires.”
Gloria sighed and rolled her eyes. Gesturing for Gabby to wait, she pushed herself up from the armchair with a groan. “Wait here,” she said. “I have the exact thing you need.”
Chapter 3
That night, Nye remained awake with Isobel, attempting to answer her thousand and one questions about a life he scarcely cared to remember.
The Middle Ages hadn’t been all sunshine and roses considering he’d been dragged up kicking and screaming in London’s slums. Some childhood. Still, that life had shaped him dramatically, and a vampire always remembered their most defining moments…much to his detriment.
Isobel wanted to complete her thesis, and he wanted to distract her from the inevitable end. How could he tell her there was no hope? How could he break her heart? He couldn’t, so he humored her.
A new day dawned over the city, and as Isobel slept, he listened to the hushed sounds of the manor. With only him, Tristan, Gabby, Alex, and the comings and goings of Reed and the Six, the place was quiet. After such turmoil, it made him feel uneasy. Like they were living through the calm before the storm.
His ears tingled at the sound of rustling coming from the direction of the study and then a soft cough. Gabby. Glancing at Isobel, he smoothed a strand of brilliant hair from her forehead and traced her cheek. He’d allow her to sleep a few more hours.
Sliding off the bed, he gently picked up her notebooks and laptop, setting them in a neat pile on the bedside table. Finally, he adjusted the quilt over her before ghosting from the room.
Down the hall, the door to the study was closed.
Opening it, he found Gabby sitting on the floor among a pile of grimoires, her own open in her lap, her fingers speckled with ink. It seemed she’d been concocting something witchy while he regaled Isobel with stories of his dreary past life.
“Where’d you go last night?” he asked her, closing the door behind him. “I hope Reed behaved himself.”
“You don’t have to worry about Reed,” the witch replied, not even glancing up from her work. “You chose well with that one.”
“I know.”
She glanced up and laughed softly. “What about y
ou? Where’d you go last night? You’re wearing the same clothes.”
“Nowhere,” he replied, sitting in one of the armchairs by the empty fireplace. “I stayed up with Isobel. She wanted to ask me questions for her thesis, so I humored her. She still thinks she’s going back to her studies.”
Gabby frowned and closed her grimoire with a snap. “There’s still a chance she can, you know. I know you’re being a Negative Nancy, Nye, but don’t suck the hope from everyone else. Especially Izzy.”
Perhaps she was right, but his mind hadn’t changed since their last conversation.
“So where’d you go?” he prodded.
“I went to see a contact,” was her brisk reply. “Unlike you, I’m still chipping away at our pest problem.”
Nye grunted.
“Have you seen Tristan this morning?”
“He’s still hiding away,” he replied. “I haven’t seen the ugly bastard since you dragged him back from the stone circle.”
“Give him some time, Nye.”
“It’s cowardly.”
“Hypocrite,” she replied. “You can’t blame him after what Eleanor made him do against his will. Loyalty is important to him. More so than it is to you. The fact he was compelled cut him deep. It violated something he holds sacred. It’ll take time for him to come to terms with it.”
He waved a hand at her, not wanting to talk about the knight a moment longer. He’d all but abandoned them as far as he was concerned. Yeah, he was a hypocrite, so what? At least he hadn’t resorted to hiding.
The Keeping Place (Book Six in the Witch Hunter Saga) Page 2
