Evernight

by Kristen Callihan

  Heart in mouth, Holly fell in an inelegant sprawl upon the dirty coach floor. “What the bleeding—” Her shout of outrage died as she looked over her shoulder.

  Thorne moved in a swirl of black, the ends of his coat flaring out, tendrils of shadow licking around him as he fought five hooded figures. Knives flashed as they came at him like a murder of crows, pecking away at all sides.

  The coach driver shouted in alarm, and people stopped what they were doing and gaped. But no one came forward to help.

  With Holly’s blasted corset and the heavy fall of her skirts and bustle, righting herself was a struggle. Her ribs creaked as she heaved upward, trying to reach for the gun strapped to her calf. Next time, she thought bitterly, she’d keep her weapons on her arms and damn what the public thought.

  Blood sprayed as a knife caught Thorne along his cheek. He didn’t falter, only lashed out with claws that had lengthened to metallic blades. But he couldn’t hold back all of them. One figure slipped past, his eyes gleaming onyx and his fangs extended as he rushed the coach.

  A scream bubbled up in Holly’s throat as she fumbled with her gun. The handle scraped the skin on her leg as she finally ripped the gun free from its holster. Claws ripped into the edge of her skirts just as she fired in rapid succession, massive booms going off, making her ears ring. The bullets, filled with a mix of powdered gold and silver, tore into the sanguis. With a howl, he staggered back, but quickly righted himself. Then he grinned as blood bloomed over his shoulder.

  Shite. She’d missed his heart. The gold would weaken him, eventually poison him, but not quickly enough to save Holly.

  “For that,” he said, “I’ll make you hurt.”

  “Wait!” Holly grabbed Thorne’s top hat that had landed upon the coach floor during the scuffle and lobbed it at him. Not expecting it, the demon flinched, giving Holly time to scramble around and escape out of the opposite coach door.

  Right into traffic. A horse whinnied and wheels screeched as a driver cursed and tried to swerve away, only to bang into another coach. “What the bloomin’ ’ell! Get out of the road!”

  Holly darted forward, and the demon assassin jumped out of the coach after her.

  “Run, run, as fast as you can,” he taunted at her heels.

  I can run away from you, I can. Grimly, Holly picked up her skirts and sprinted, weaving through lumbering coaches and creaking drays that threatened to crush her. Her lungs burned. Blast, but she was reverting to wearing her short stays from here on. The handle of the gun, clutched tight in her sweaty palm, threatened to slip free. She couldn’t stop to fire it, not here.

  “Evernight!”

  Thorne. She couldn’t turn to see. The demon’s footsteps were nearly on top of hers. Holly’s breath came on sharp and raw. An omnibus loomed ahead. Crowded top and bottom with riders, it crawled along like a tortoise in the field of hares.

  Cursing, Holly let her gun fall, grabbed hold of the bus’s brass stair rail, and hauled herself up. The muscles along her arm and side screamed in pain as the abrupt move swung her in the opposite direction from which she’d been running. The demon, still in a full sprint, skidded past her, swiping at her with his claws and snarling when he failed to catch hold of her.

  Distracted as he was, he didn’t see the massive coal-leaden dray until it was on top of him. The dray driver cried out, but he couldn’t stop. And the demon went down in an abrupt thud. Massive wheels rolled over him in a sickening crunch as people screamed. Holly closed her eyes for a mere second before taking a deep breath.

  “Evernight!” Thorne’s shout cut through the commotion.

  He ran towards her, his coattails flapping, his wild hair streaming like a white banner. But it was the four assassins in black cloaks that caught her attention. They’d abandoned Thorne in favor of hunting her down. And they were closer to catching her than Thorne was.

  Bloody hell.

  Hands shaking, Holly rooted around in her mantle pocket. Her fingers curled over a round metal object the size of a billiard ball. She didn’t want to use it, but she had no choice. Leaping from the bus, Holly pushed through the now-stalled road traffic and headed towards the Shaftesbury side of the circus where pedestrians mulled about, pointing at the downed assassin crushed beneath the dray’s wheels.

  Too many people. It couldn’t be helped.

  Her fingernail found the depression in the metal ball and pushed it in. An ominous series of clicks came from her pocket. Holly wrenched the device free and dropped it in the center of the circus.

  One. Two. Three steps.

  The assassins were almost on top of the device.

  A loud hissing sounded, and then, with a burst of green light, the ball shot open, sending a cloud of thick fog whizzing and shooting into the air. Instantly, the circus became a murky bog.

  People ran to and fro, crying out and coughing, not able to see or breathe. Holly held a gloved hand to her nose and backed up until her shoulder hit the side of a building. Heart in her throat, she glanced around. Gods, where was she? Disorientation took hold. Her head swam, and her lungs burned. Someone ran past. A man, his hat askew in his panic. Sounds echoed.

  Limping from the stitch in her side, she headed away from the smoke and down Shaftesbury. The air cleared as she emerged out of the fog. A hack drove by.

  “Hold,” Holly shouted. The hack didn’t slow. “Ten guineas if you do!”

  That got his attention. The driver pulled up short. Breathless, Holly rushed towards the waiting coach. So close. Her hand landed upon the door latch.

  Hard fingers bit into her shoulder and spun her about. The back of a hand bashed into her lip, the recoil sending her head into the side of the waiting coach.

  “Here, now,” shouted the driver.

  The assassin grinned down at her, his yellow eyes burning bright. A raptor. “I’ll enjoy making you beg for mercy.”

  He moved to strike again. Instinctively, Holly thrust up the heel of her hand, catching her attacker under his nose. It was like hitting a block of iron, but he staggered just enough for her to get her knee up, skirts and all, and hit him between his legs. Not very effectual, but his next swipe to grab hold of her neck went wide.

  She hadn’t any opportunity to do more before a snarl like that of an enraged dog tore through the air, and her attacker was plucked away.

  Fangs extended like gleaming daggers, rage and murder in his eyes, Thorne held the raptor aloft as though he were a child’s toy. He moved to rip the assassin’s head from his body when the three other cloaked figures jumped upon him.

  They went down in a black heap of swinging arms and razor-sharp claws. Blood sprayed. Then another of Thorne’s roars broke out. He disappeared in a maelstrom of ink-black shadow. In a blink, it enveloped the attackers. The black cloud twirled tighter and faster. And then, as quickly as it had formed, it ended.

  Thorne reappeared on the ground, one hand resting in a scummy puddle, his legs in an inelegant sprawl, and his white hair covering his face. At his feet, four headless males lay. Someone screamed. People stared, horrified. A shrill whistle pierced the air. The bobbies were headed their way.

  Holly slumped against the side of the coach. Even though she wore a heavy mantle, she shivered as though ice cold. Perhaps it was cowardly of her, but aftershocks of terror quaked through her, and she wanted nothing more than to jump into the coach and hide. She needed heavy walls and a solid door between herself and the world. But she needed Thorne to come with her, and he wasn’t moving. Holly stumbled forward and ran to him, ready to assist when he raised his head. Her boot heels skidded against the slate sidewalk.

  Not an inch of skin remained upon his face. He was entirely platinum. It shone bright in the weak light of day. Brilliant and beautiful. And causing him extreme pain, by the way he shook and clenched his teeth.

  “Mr. Thorne,” she whispered. She ought not have spoken. She knew that instinctively. And too late. A sound rumbled low in his throat. A growl. He snapped at her as an animal m
ight. And then whimpered, as he began to pant, his body curling in on itself.

  She hesitated no longer. “William.”

  He flinched as soon as she touched him, rearing back and hissing, his long, wickedly sharp fangs gleaming pure white against his silver-toned lips.

  “It’s all right.” Her hand rested on a shoulder so hard and so cold through his coat that she knew it was completely metal now. “It’s all right, big man.”

  A choked sound left him but he soothed a bit, the violent shaking in his shoulders ebbing, but tension still held him hard.

  “Come.” She pulled at his arm. “Let’s get you home.”

  Awkwardly, they rose together, him resting upon her. He was ridiculously heavy for such a lean man. Another whimper left him, and she tucked closer into his side. “Easy now, big man. Easy.”

  Tossing a bag of coin up to the driver and shouting “go!” in a manner that promised pain and suffering if not heeded, Holly helped Thorne into the coach, landing by his side. The coach lurched forward, careening down a side street.

  Thorne hauled her close, his hands upon her hips, and rested his forehead against hers. Another shiver lit through him. His neck was torn open. Blood, hot and thick, dripped upon her collarbone. Holly ignored it and carefully cupped his nape. The slashed flesh was already closing, but he didn’t seem to ease.

  “Where do you hurt?” she whispered.

  His eyes were closed, and he swallowed hard. “Everywhere.” Convulsively, he clutched her hips tighter. “Are you harmed?”

  With clumsy fingers, he touched her lower lip. It throbbed, the curve stinging where it was split. Thorne cursed low and viciously.

  “It’s all right,” Holly assured.

  “Do not make light of this,” he ground out, his thumb stroking her lip. “You might have been—” His teeth snapped together so hard that she heard them connect.

  “But I wasn’t.” She pulled at the metal that invaded his flesh. As if unable to help himself, Thorne leaned into her touch, his hands moving over her hair, her cheeks, shoulders. He trembled, his movements weak, sluggish. She’d need to do more for him at home. Home. How could it be that she already thought of home as a place they both belonged? It was madness.

  When she’d done what she could for the moment, she sank into him. The coach swayed and rattled as they simply held onto each other, holding each other up, their former strife forgotten.

  Thorne’s fingertips caressed her neck as he spoke. “ ‘Big man’? Is that what you called me?”

  “Er…” Holly’s cheeks flushed hot. “Yes.”

  The coach rocked gently.

  “You called me that before.” Thorne’s voice was a mere breath. “In the cellars. I remember your touch upon my face, the sound of your voice.”

  She had. It was an endearment her grandmother had used on her grandfather. Holly flushed hotter. She had merely wanted to comfort the hurting sanguis. Silence took on a life and weight between them. And then Thorne huffed. “Big man.”

  He’d said it as though scoffing. But she could hear the question in there, that he wanted to know why she’d called him that. She almost smiled. No, his frame wasn’t what anyone would define as “big.” He was lean and strong, a sharp blade. And yet what could she say?

  “Well, you are compared to me,” she settled on. For even though he was not bulky, he towered over her by nearly a foot.

  He huffed again, a half-laugh, half-snort, before leaning back a little, weariness lining his face. “Well,” he said in a lighter tone, “we have one goal accomplished. We certainly gained attention.”

  Holly chuffed out a weak laugh. “Oh yes, well done, that.” Then she shuddered. “I didn’t expect a pack of them to come for me.”

  With a weary hand, Thorne raked the hair away from his face. “Those were not assassins, love. Those were Nex.”

  “You gave a rather vivid response to their offer to rejoin them,” Holly murmured as though her heart wasn’t racing.

  His hand found hers and squeezed firmly. “Congratulations, Miss Evernight. You have yourself an army of one.” He looked out the window, and his grip went slack. “Pray that it will be enough.”

  Someone was waiting for them when Holly and Thorne arrived at Evernight House. As soon as Holly descended the carriage step, a figure slipped between the open gates at the end of the drive. Thorne tensed, but Holly held out a staying hand. There was something familiar about the woman coming towards them.

  Her black cloak was drawn up high against the cold, but the little hat pinned atop her neat bun left the majority of her hair exposed. It shone copper bright when she passed beneath the massive gas lamp hanging on the portico’s ceiling.

  Holly’s tension eased a touch. They’d not be attacked, but a reckoning was imminent.

  Thorne, feeding off of Holly’s reaction, pressed himself against her side.

  The woman stopped before them. “Mistress Evernight,” said Poppy Lane, director of the SOS, and the woman most believed to be Mother, the secret head of the organization.

  She was the last person Holly wanted to see now, when blood was drying in Thorne’s hair. Keeping her composure, Holly gave her a respectful nod. “Director Lane.” It was on the tip of her tongue to say “fancy meeting you here” or something equally banal, but dread kept her quiet. Director Lane never visited Holly at home.

  The tension between them pulled tight as Director Lane surveyed Thorne, and a deep frown worked its way across her pale brow. “Mr. Thorne, my sources had marked you as missing and unaccounted for until now.”

  Thorne said nothing.

  “Where have you been?” Lane prompted in the face of his silence.

  “Madam,” Thorne said, “as I am not SOS, I do believe that is none of your business.”

  Director Lane’s mouth twitched. Holly might be inclined to think the woman was fighting a smile, but it was hard to discern when it came to Lane. “No. But it couldn’t hurt to ask.” She turned her attention to Holly. “Mistress Evernight, did you allow Mr. Thorne the use of an anti-listening device at Verrey’s restaurant little less than an hour ago?”

  Despite the frigid air, Holly’s cheeks burned. Gods and gadgets but she wanted to kick Thorne’s shin for forcing her out of the house to begin with. But she held Director Lane’s reproving gaze instead. “Your information is correct.”

  “I see.” Disappointment and censure colored Director Lane’s tone.

  “You don’t see at all,” said Thorne. “Only imply with that supercilious look of yours.”

  Director Lane angled her chin towards Thorne as if only just giving him her attention. “And what am I implying, Mr. Thorne?”

  He seemed to invade Holly’s space even further, though he’d yet to move. “That Evernight compromised your precious SOS, which is rot.”

  “Perhaps my concern lies with your loyalties, Mr. Thorne,” Director Lane said. “You were Nex, after all.”

  “ ‘Were’ being the operative word,” Thorne retorted. “What occurs between Miss Evernight and myself stays between us.”

  Thorne’s conviction sent something warm fizzing within Holly. But she didn’t revel in it, for Director Lane’s gaze pinned Holly down once more. “After leaving Verrey’s, you deployed a top secret smoke bomb that has yet to go through proper testing, upon which time Mr. Thorne violently beheaded five supernatural beings in front of several humans.” Lane cocked her head. “Or do I have this wrong?”

  Well, hell.

  Holly fought the urge to cower. “Technically, he beheaded four. I killed one of them.”

  “Careful, Miss Evernight,” Director Lane said evenly. “Your cheek is not appreciated in this instance.”

  Holly hadn’t considered her answer cheeky, but she refrained from clarifying.

  “Why were you engaged in a public bloodbath?” Director Lane asked. “In the middle of Piccadilly Circus, no less.”

  “Because the bloody buggers weren’t polite enough to attack us in a back alley,” T
horne quipped. “I do so hate an inconsiderate killer.”

  Bugger all, but Thorne was going to get her sacked. Holly balled her fists to keep from slapping a hand over Thorne’s mouth. Lane’s gaze narrowed just as the temperature fell. Holly knew it was a sign of Poppy Lane’s rising temper. Her particular power was the ability to create frost and ice. Holly was not afraid. Director Lane wouldn’t hurt her. That didn’t mean that she couldn’t and wouldn’t make her life miserable.

  “Miss Evernight, whether you were at fault or not, the fact remains that you are the head inventor of the SOS and privy to sensitive information. It is the express opinion of both myself and the SOS that you end your association with Mr. Thorne. It is against the rules for an SOS member to fraternize with a Nex agent. Whether retired or not,” Lane added with an emphatic look at Thorne.

  Never mind that Jack maintained his association with Thorne and was now a director, Holly thought bitterly.

  Thorne’s fangs flashed on a snarl, and he took a hard step in Director Lane’s direction. “You have no right to order Miss Evernight about!”

  “Oh, but I do,” said Director Lane without flinching. “I am her superior. As SOS, she answers to me.”

  Holly set a quelling hand upon Thorne’s forearm. But she kept her gaze on Director Lane. “I am on hiatus, thus I am not SOS for the moment.” A ridiculous distinction, but Holly could think of little else to use as a defense.

  The weight of Director Lane’s stare was crushing. “Given events of late, that is hardly comforting, Miss Evernight.” Lane’s pale face twisted with something that appeared to be regret, but she was a hard woman, and not one easily deterred. “Cease interaction now or you’ll have to be brought up for review.”

  Holly’s insides heaved. She hated disappointing Director Lane. They were not close, and likely would never be, but it was Poppy who’d given Holly a position on the weapons and gadgetry team. It was Poppy who had promoted her to head of the division. Moreover, Poppy was Sin’s sister. Holly did not want to cause a rift between them. Nor did she fancy being reprimanded by the SOS. Her career had always been the bright star in her world. She was so very proud of her work.