by LJ Swallow
"Oh, come on, Syv. You know everything has changed in the world. We think someone is aware of your origins and knows how dangerous you'll be if you discover your hidden powers," Morgan says.
"Stop talking about powers." I rub my head. "I think I’d know if I had powers."
"Your ability to detect magic must have a bigger reason than paying your way in life."
"Yeah, well, I've tried to perform magic before but nothing ever happened. I think you're bullshitting me because you want my detective skills."
Cillian tips his head. "How much?"
"Pardon?"
"How much do we need to pay you to join us?"
Now they're talking my language. "What can you offer?"
Donovan scratches his nose. "We can put you on a retainer—5k a month—and if you help us locate this first box, then we'll pay you more to find the others."
"Okay..."
"But no working for anybody else while you do, or the deal is off," he continues.
"Including your fae lover, the Collector."
I scowl at Morgan. "He's not my lover—Col’s one of my biggest clients."
Morgan's brows tug down. "That's not what we heard."
"I'm not a fan of older guys. He's freaking immortal—imagine me getting old and him staying his glorious, sexy self." I shake my head. "He'd dump my ass."
"It's true," says Dex.
I snap my head around. "Again: do I know you? What would you know about my relationship with Col?"
His response is a smile, the type that raises suspicion but also my interest. Usually I'd freak at these vague statements, but I like a man with a little mystery. "I meant it's true he'd probably dump your ass."
I purse my lips. "If I do this, how can you trust me to keep my mouth shut?"
"For money and possible access to your powers, I would think that's enough."
"Plus, a bodyguard." Dex wanders over and looks down at me. Hell, this man's big. In every respect? I glance at his feet. Put it this way, I don't think I'd win in a fight with him. His biceps around my neck would be enough to choke me.
"You want to be my bodyguard? I don't need one."
"You were lucky tonight, Syv," says Cillian softly. "I’d lay bets they were instructed to kill you."
I swallow. "Nothing new there."
Morgan laughs. "You're dealing with bigger forces than you realise. Verin is a powerful demon prince but also a necromancer. If he'd killed you, your life wouldn't have ended there."
A shiver crosses my scalp and runs along my spine into my toes. Necromancer? How many evil bastards came through these portals?
Cillian gives me one of his sympathetic smiles. "Honestly, we can help each other. Help us find the objects we need, we pay you a nice sum, and life will be more comfortable for everybody."
I chew my lip and look around. A tall cabinet is half-hidden in one corner, beside the burgundy velvet curtains tied with gold rope. "Do you have anything to drink?"
"Is that a sealed deal?" asks Cillian with a chuckle.
"No, it's me having a stressful night and needing a drink. A strong one."
Donovan crosses to the cabinet and my spirits perk up as he pours from a bottle of dark liquor into a glass. I eagerly accept it, enjoying the warmth burning my throat. "Tastes expensive."
Donovan laughs. "You have a taste for whisky?"
I drain the contents. "Absolutely."
He tops up my glass. "Perhaps consider our offer overnight. You may sleep here tonight, Syv, and tomorrow if you wish to leave, you can."
Overnight?
"Sleep where?" I ask eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"We have spare rooms for any and all guests who visit the Institute."
"And a training room? With special weapons?" One thing I love about my job is the weapons I locate either for myself or others. Some hold magical property others are unaware of, others are just very sharp and pointy. Either way, they're helpful.
Donovan shakes his head. "The training is more 'on the job'."
"We need to find these boxes quickly," says Morgan. "We need you to start tomorrow."
I blow air into my cheeks and hold my glass out for another whisky. "I'll have a few relaxing drinks, a sleep, and we can speak in the morning."
Donovan gives a wry smile and looks from one to the other of the guys. He nods before walking away.
My three new friends pour drinks and sit, talking about things I don't understand while I whirl the office chair in circles, enjoying how it adds to the woozy feeling.
Morgan breaks away from joking with his mates and smiles at me. "Are you tired yet, Syv?" After a couple of drinks, the guy no longer behaves like he has a stick up his arse.
I steady myself on the chair and the world spins a little as I focus on him. "Maybe one more drink."
As I stretch my arm out for Cillian to take my glass, his eyes widen. "What's that?"
He points to my lower arm. I study the skin halfway along my forearm. A dirty black mark. I lick my thumb and attempt to scrub it away but it stubbornly remains. Oil? I sniff it.
"Morgan. Come here." He steps back and waits for his friend to also study me, as if I'm a curiosity at the zoo.
"Fuck. Are you feeling okay, Syv?"
"A bit drunk and confused but—"
"How long has that mark been on you?" asks Cillian.
I scrunch my nose up. How long? I showered this morning and there wasn't anything apart from scars and tattoos.
"Not sure. Maybe since this evening."
"Did one of the demons touch you?" Dex approaches too and I'm put off by how they crowd me. "At the warehouse."
"One guy grabbed my arm to take the box. What is this?" I rub the mark again.
"Shit," mutters Morgan. "If we're too late, we need to find someone else to help."
"No," growls Dex. "We need Syv. We can sort out this issue."
"But she has a death mark," retorts Morgan.
"Uh. I'm sorry," I put in. "Death mark? Care to explain?"
"Verin must have arranged to mark you. A necromancer can track anybody with one. The mark has the potential to spread through your blood and begin the process of transforming you."
"Into?"
"A lich." Morgan huffs. "And your brain will be influenced first. Shit. Why couldn't she be more careful?"
"All I did was pick up a box. I didn't know it possessed some evil juju that would turn me into a zombie."
"The mark probably came from the guy who touched you," says Cillian. "And this won't turn you into a zombie."
"Then what will the mark do?"
"Kill you," says Dex. "We need to find a cure. Now."
"A cure? This isn’t an infection. It's magic." Morgan's stony-faced attitude has changed to panic and he grips my arm to look closer.
"Then we find a magical antidote," I suggest. "There needs to be one."
"We'd need the spell and ingredients."
"Shit!" Morgan drags his hand through his hair and walks to the other side of the room. "Where the fuck do we start looking for that? I don’t have time for this shit."
"Dana?" asks Dex. "She may know."
"The warlock? Why would she help us?" asks Cillian.
"Warlock?" I interrupt. "Exactly how many magic users have been hidden that I’ve never come across?"
"Portals?" asks Dex. "A few snuck through."
I sigh. "Well, this has been a fun-filled evening. I faced an assassination attempt and ended the day abducted. Now I have an invitation to join a society I've never heard of and discovered I'm marked for death. Yay. Go me."
"We didn't kidnap you," says Dex. "You agreed to come with us."
"Stuck between a rock and a hard place. I figured your intent was less murderous."
"Correct, and now we'll help you."
I place down the glass and stand. The news shakes through my half-numb body and I don't like the direction this conversation is going. "Okay. I need sleep. I won't die overnight, will I?"
Cillian rubs his t
emples. "No. But you're more locatable, like someone planted a tracking device."
"Oh, how fabulous!" I layer on the sarcasm. "And am I safe here?"
"We can fortify the wards. Morgan?"
"On it."
"Dex?"
"I'll patrol."
"Okay. Syv, I'll show you to your room." Cillian flourishes a hand toward the door.
I pause before I leave and chew a nail as I look back. "I guess I should thank you for helping me earlier."
Three pairs of amused eyes look back. "I guess you should," says Cillian and cocks a brow. "Since we saved your life."
"Thank you." I put my hands to my throat and make a mock strangled noise. "Sorry, that almost choked me."
I leave my light-hearted comment behind and, with a sick stomach, I follow Cillian out of the door.
4
I'm curious to see what this building would look like from the outside, but for now I'm treated to walks along corridors furnished with burgundy carpets and gold light fittings lining the wall. The place is spotless and smells faintly of furniture polish. Everything shines, and the cross symbol is repeated at intervals along the wall.
Cillian doesn't speak as he escorts me but keeps glancing at my arm. My stomach twists with an unfamiliar feeling—fear. What do they mean it will take over my mind first? And I'm not a hundred percent sure exactly what a lich is.
We pause by a room and he pushes open the dark-stained wood door. Inside, a double bed dominates the room, with a dresser beside it. I step inside and immediately walk to the large window to look out. Beneath, a courtyard spreads from the building to floodlit ornate gates. The light close to the building is dim, but I can make out lawned areas with fountains either side of a wide paved area leading to the gates. Uniform. Tidy. The familiar London skyline is around us. Judging by the distance to landmarks, we're central—but where?
Nobody walks outside and the area is silent. I briefly assess the window for how quickly I could escape. Two floors up. My knife remains inside my boot, so if any threat does approach, I can be out of here in minutes.
If I can get over those twenty-feet-high metal gates. Knowing my luck, they're electrified.
"I hope the room is okay for you." Cillian stands in the doorway, resting against the frame, arms crossed. His white hair isn't as apparent in the dim, but his presence is. I've fought a number of magic users in my time, but never an elemental.
Xander had a close and dangerous encounter with one—my dog rescued him. Well, my demonic pet I owned for all of half a day. Perhaps a good thing, my constant travelling isn't a good lifestyle for a pet owner.
"The room is fine." Tidier and cleaner than the room I rent in the attic above La Fee Verte, the underground fae club and my recent sanctuary.
"Good. And you're happy to stay? I saw you studying the window. Honestly, if you want to leave, the front door might be more sensible."
"I'm tired. I'll stay and talk tomorrow—especially if you can help get rid of this mark, or whatever the hell it is."
"In return for your help in locating the box. After that, the choice whether to continue with us is yours."
I chew the edge of my lip. This mark changes the situation. "But you'll still pay me, right?"
He chuckles. "Save your life and pay you for help? You drive hard bargains, Syv."
"It's how I survive."
I step back as Cillian walks into the room. He holds out a hand, palm upwards. "May I look at your arm?"
I drag my leather jacket off and dump it on the bed. His eyes sweep over my body, drawn to my skimpy vest top beneath and what's revealed. "Nice necklace."
The pendant Col once gave me, milky white which catches rainbows, supposedly protects me from fae attempts to influence my mind. I never wore the necklace when he first gifted it to me, but following encounters with dubious fae, I always do now. "Sure, that's what you're looking at."
His eyes glint and he holds my look a moment—too long for my heart's comfort, as it skips. Cillian takes my arm and gently touches the mark. Wow. Okay. Mr. Freeze has the opposite effect on me than I expected as my skin heats. His pale brow tugs tight as his fingers brush me.
"Yes. Definitely a death mark, and a fresh one." He drops my arm. "Good. This gives us more time."
"Before I die?" I ask, attempting a light tone. "Bonus."
"You won't die, Syv." Cillian drops onto the bed's edge and looks up. Is he expecting an invite? Sure we exchanged some clear signals, but seriously?
"Have you not heard about the death marks appearing on people?"
"Nope."
"But they’re becoming common within the demon community. Demons around your age—female—are branded with them and nobody knows where from, or why. Many are dying, others disappear. We recently discovered the necromancer connection."
I blink at him. "Whoa. Okay. Just demons? Or others too?"
Cillian looks at me with his lips pursed. "How can you not know about this, Syv? Aren’t you part of the demon community?"
"No. Not at all. I’m on the edge, as you know. I prefer to stay away from anybody’s attention." I scour my brain. I’ve heard news about disappearing and dead demons, but no specifics. And in their world, neither situation is unusual.
"But now you have a mark, which is interesting."
"Interesting? I can think of better words than that."
"And we know the guys tonight did this to you, which confirms they’re connected to Verin." He bites his bottom lip, which is bloody distracting. "I wonder what this connection is?"
"To be honest, Cillian, my main concern is getting it the hell off me. I don’t care what the connection is."
"And we will help, as we said."
"If I help you."
He smiles. "Yes. And I’m sure that makes you feel better. I know you don’t like to owe people. That’s what makes this the perfect mutual endeavour."
His voice lowers, his words vague. Cillian is as distracted as I am—as aware of the attraction. I haven’t spent time around attractive guys for a while, and when I told them I was too busy for sex, that was only half true. The real reason—no recent worthwhile candidates.
Then suddenly, three step into my world. I mean, if I am dying, I should consider having fun, right?
Seriously, Syv? That’s what you’re thinking about right now?
I stand before his strange eyes can bore any further into the hidden truth in my eyes.
"Night, then."
He stands too and shakes his head. "Sleep well, Syv."
Cillian touches my face and I grab his hand. Nobody touches me without permission, especially after my experiences with my fae lover, ‘bastard Bastion’. But there's curious gentleness in his expression.
"I hope you hang around."
He steps back and as the door closes behind him, I rush over to rest my back against it. My breathing difficulty is panic over his telling me the death mark is an epidemic that girls aren’t surviving. Definitely not because something draws me to want more than a touch on the cheek from him.
I laugh to myself, even though my stomach's sick.
Definitely time I broke the sex drought.
I wake, sweating, despite only wearing underwear and my vest. Throwing the covers from me, I lie and stare at the ceiling for a moment or two but imaginary shadows swirl. Dreams about the day the world almost ended unsettle me. The god only abducted me for minutes, but those minutes felt like an eternity.
He never harmed me, but the dark evil surrounding him reached out to my demon side and terrified me. In my dreams, I relive the threat to my life that day and when I was attacked in Paris. The memories never come to me in the daytime, but at night the silence deafens me with screams.
If they do sneak through into my waking life, alcohol pushes them away again.
Six months passed since the god was defeated by the Horsemen, and the portals sealed forever. But how normal is the world? I've sensed supernatural types I've never come across before—including t
wo of the men I met today—and now I'm questioning how many new residents there are. Dex isn't human either, and it suddenly strikes me that he never told me what or who he is. They'll need to tell me before I consider allying with the trio.
Right now, I need light.
The room shines with an orange glow when I switch on the lamps, and I hop out of bed.
Hell, I need to pee, and Mr. Freeze didn't tell me where to find a bloody bathroom. If I explore, will I walk into their bedrooms too?
And here come the lustful images again—naked chests, and bodies barely hidden by sheets. I slap myself on the side of the head to push away my thoughts. I have a collection of friends with benefits, although some died over the years. That sounds harsh, but a reality I've learned to block away after the heartache caused the first time.
The door creaks as I open it. As I survey my dim surroundings, I miss what's at my feet, and I trip over a large, warm object. One wall lamp shines close by and I squint down to see what's there.
Whatever the hell this is, it's breathing heavily with sleep.
The thing moves its head and two burning amber eyes look at me.
I scream.
And I never scream.
Definitely not with such blood-curdling fear.
The ‘thing’ is huge. Massive. Animal. Without waiting to see what this animal will do next, I step back and slam the door closed, hoping to hell the creature can't crash through the wood.
I hold my breath in order to hear more clearly, although my heart thuds in my ears. A dagger lies on the nightstand. Do I walk over to take it or focus on barricading myself?
"Syv?" calls a voice and footsteps thump along the hall. "What's wrong?"
"There's something outside my room!" I call.
'Something' shifts, knocking against the door, but doesn't push or scratch. "What the hell is there?"
More footsteps. "Oh, for fuck's sake." Morgan's muttering voice. "Grab him."
"What's happening?"
I can't make out the low conversation right outside my bedroom. This continues without an answer for me. Annoyed, I open the door a crack so I can see what's happening.
The hallway is dim, but I make out two figures. Cillian is crouched down, hand on a large dog's back, and Morgan's arms are crossed over his chest as he watches.
