by M. J. Scott
“Safest for who?”
He ignored me. “I know this area.”
“You do?” This wasn’t the sort of neighborhood I expected Simon to be familiar with. He belonged in the wellmanicured, safe human boroughs. Close to the spires of Our Lady of the Perpetual Rose and the Brother House. Places where light and order prevailed and the alleys didn’t smell like three-week-dead fish.
“Yes. If we cut through this alley, we’ll be closer to Melchior. We can get a hackney or another ’cab.”
I hoped like hell he was right. So far the Lady seemed to like him. Perhaps she’d favor him a little longer.
One thing was certain, trying to make our way to St. Giles on foot would be foolhardy. I wasn’t going to be much use if we ran into more Beasts. I drew in a breath, trying to forget the pain in my side. “All right. It’s a plan.”
“You should let me look at that,” Simon said, frowning. He looked down to my hand. Blood coated the underside of my palm. Some dribbled between my fingers, down toward my wrist.
“It can wait. I’m not bleeding to death. He didn’t catch me full strength. If we stop for you to heal me, then we might not be so lucky next time.” The bleeding had slowed, but the torn flesh still throbbed with every movement, a deep burning pain that radiated up and down from the place my hand covered.
“You have a strange view of lucky.” He held out his hand. I ignored it.
I wasn’t going to touch him. It had been bad enough in the ’cab. I didn’t need his skin on mine distracting me while we were trying to get to safety.
“Standing and breathing is lucky enough. Now let’s go.”
His face tightened in frustration but he nodded.
Our luck held as we made our way down the alley and out into the streets beyond. No Beasts waited to pounce on us. And we hadn’t gone very far when a hackney rumbled into view. Simon stepped in front of it, holding out his hand, and the driver eased to a halt.
“St. Giles,” Simon said curtly. His tone left no room for arguments. The driver merely nodded and Simon pulled the door open and stepped back so I could climb in. I’d barely taken my place on the patched leather seat when he climbed in after me and slammed the door shut, yelling for the driver to drive on. He dropped onto the seat beside me rather than opposite.
The hackney swayed as the horses set off. I braced myself with my good hand, resisting the urge to lean back and relax. There was still a way to go to St. Giles. I needed to be alert.
Simon made a half-muffled noise of protest as the hackney hit a bump in the road. Hells, was he hurt too? “Are you all right?”
“Standing and breathing,” he said shortly. “Well, sitting and breathing. Move your hand and I’ll do what I can for that.”
“Can’t it wait until we get to the hospital?”
“If I do something now, we have a better chance of getting to the hospital in one piece if we do run into more trouble. Undo your vest and pull your shirt back.”
I froze. I hadn’t thought about him putting his hands on me to heal me. On my bare skin. “Can’t you just . . .” I paused and nodded toward his hands. “ . . . heal it?”
“I need to see it first, to know what I’m dealing with.”
“But you healed me through my shirt this morning.”
A grin flashed on his face. “Who do you think undressed you? I had plenty of time to see the damage.” The grin vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. “I assume that was Lucius’ handiwork?”
I didn’t see the point in denying it. “Yes.” Beneath the fresh pain of the claw marks, the remnants of pain from Lucius’ beating still laid a solid layer of ache beneath my skin. Simon hadn’t finished the job, I remembered. He’d needed to recharge. Well, maybe he could give me some sort of two-for-one deal now. It would be nice not to hurt. Would be nice to eat as well, I realized as I identified part of the ache in my stomach as hunger pangs.
I’d never actually gotten the promised breakfast this morning, and last night’s bowl of stew seemed a very long time ago. Add in a beating, a couple of fights, and a run through the city streets and I was starting to push the limits of my endurance.
But it wasn’t as though we could stop for a picnic lunch, so I’d just have to put up with it.
“Go on,” Simon said.
I moved my hand gingerly and started unlacing my vest. Peeling the leather away from the wounds hurt like hell. I hissed through my teeth.
Simon made a sympathetic noise. “Sorry.” He looked down at the wound. The linen of my shirt was shredded where the claws had connected. “That looks nasty.”
I shot him a sideways glance. “You don’t say.”
“It should be cleaned first.”
“We don’t have anything to clean it with,” I pointed out.
“I know,” he said. “I was just thinking out loud. I can work around it.”
He reached out and laid his hand over the wounds, twisting to do so. Another pained noise broke through his teeth, but he didn’t change position.
“You are hurt,” I said.
“Quiet, I’m concentrating.”
I bit down on my protests. He should be healing himself, not me. As it had this morning, a cool feeling starting flowing across my stomach from his hand. I wondered vaguely why it was cool, not warm. Surely the power of the sun should be warm?
His hand was warm enough, though, and heat radiated from his body bent close to mine. I bit my lip, closing my eyes, trying to ignore the fact that there was a man so close to me. This man.
I am in control.
I didn’t believe my own lie. A different sort of hunger stalked me now. The need was sparking, rousing to heat my blood. Damn Lucius to the lowest level of hell. I refused to be a slave to my body, subject to its artificially induced whims. I hated the blood, hated myself for wanting it. I’d be damned before I let the need it conjured control me.
The need surged again. Hells. I was damned already, had been since I was born. But I still wouldn’t give in.
It wasn’t Simon who made me feel this way, it was the need. So I wasn’t going to make the mistake of getting confused. No matter whether the feeling wasn’t entirely familiar, not all burning fire but something warmer and gentler threading beneath the insistent shrill of the need.
I bit down harder still on my lip, then winced at the pain.
“Sorry,” Simon repeated.
“You’re not hurting me.” Another lie but one that was easier to live with.
“You wouldn’t be hurt if I’d listened to you.”
“Perhaps. Or maybe we’d have been ambushed. You did what you were oath-bound to do.”
Harm to none. That was how the healer oath went. I had no doubt he would fight to defend himself—I had seen him do so—but I wondered if he had ever killed. Not by losing a patient but deliberately ending a life. And if not, what would it take to make him do so?
“Still, I apologize. There. That’s all I can do for now. Any more without cleaning it and there’ll just be problems later on.”
He took his hand away and I wanted to tell him to put it back. I didn’t, though. The regret and conviction in his voice made me want to touch him, to tell him it was all right. But no. I would offer him no comfort. It wouldn’t be fair. I turned my head away and stared out the window, need and confusion coiling through me like a snake unsure whether or not it should strike or flee, hoping the journey wouldn’t take much longer.
When the hackney finally turned into the long, wide private road that ran the length of the hospital’s northern side, I didn’t know whether I was relieved or worried about what was coming next. We’d made it to St. Giles without incident, but that didn’t mean I was safe. Lucius would try again at some point. And then again and again, until he got what he wanted.
And, in the meantime, I was about to walk into a place full of Fae and human mages.
All of whom had no reason to like or help me.
The hackney drew to a halt, the driver’s low tones as h
e clucked to the horses rumbling into the carriage. The horses were blowing and snorting, their harnesses creaking and jingling. Nervous. Why ?
Simon had noticed too. He twitched the tattered fabric shielding the window aside, giving me a clear view. “See anyone you recognize?” he asked.
I leaned forward. We’d arrived at the main entrance where the impressive white dome of St. Giles rose above the stepped marbled forecourt. A massive statue of the unfortunate saint himself kept watch over the marbled tiles, his arms stretched forward, open hands angling down as if to draw attention to the immaculate stretch of green grass that separated the forecourt from the road. The marble thorns curling around his legs looked liked they hurt. I sympathized.
The driver had pulled up on the far side of the road as instructed. The near side, according to Simon, was reserved for those with emergencies. I’d argued that we had an emergency but he disagreed.
I looked at the white steps. Less than thirty-odd feet to safety. Walk across the road, pass under the branches of the huge sentinel-like oaks ringing the hospital at fifty-foot intervals, and cross the grass. Set a foot on that marble and the Haven laws protected you no matter what species you might be. Though, in truth, each species tended to favor the Havens run by their own kind. Which didn’t help me. My kind were few. I’d never met another like me.
I’d have to take my safety as it came.
Right now that was St. Giles. And right now the path to St. Giles was blocked.
A group of seven men stood on the grass, several strategic feet still between them and the edge of the marble. To a man they were taller than average, broad shouldered and dressed in dark colors that blended well in the dappled shadows beneath the oaks. Long hair in shades as various as their skin tones—which ranged from paler than mine to near black—flowed loose down to their shoulders, and their faces wore identical intent expressions.
The expressions of hunters sighting their prey. Beasts, all of them. I could smell them on the breeze blowing toward us. No wonder the horses were displeased. I had a distinct urge to bolt myself.
“The one in the middle is René Rousselline,” I said softly. “The others are Favreaus, I think. Maybe a Krueger as well.” All packs with ties to Lucius’ court, even if the relationships were not as cordial as they could be at times. None of them were terribly old. They looked to be twenty or so. Juniors sent to scout me out.
But young didn’t mean harmless.
Simon let the fabric fall back. “Should we drive on?”
“Where would we go?”
“To the Brother House.”
Not an option I wanted to consider at this moment. Yes, it was likely that Lucius wouldn’t set watchers on the Templars, not if he wanted those watchers to survive. But the thought of being surrounded by a regiment of Templars was far scarier than seven Beast Kind.
One of the horses squealed suddenly and the driver thumped on the roof. “You lot coming out? I’ve places to be.”
“We should go,” I said. Seven-to-two wasn’t good odds even with the guns. Not when Simon was injured.
The horse made another annoyed-frightened sound. It would draw the attention of the Beasts if we waited much longer—if it hadn’t already. The scent of them had grown fainter. The wind had shifted.
Blowing our scent toward them.
I banged on the carriage wall. “Drive—”
The door flew open. A large dark head appeared. Rene Rousselline. His too-pointed teeth gleamed whitely against his olive skin as he grinned nastily as me. “Well, well. What do we—”
He stopped short when he spotted my pistol pointing squarely at his head. “There’s seven of us,” he said slowly.
“Right here there’s two pistols and one of you,” Simon said. “Back away.”
“We have no fight with you,” Rene said. “Give us her”—he jerked his head toward me—“and we’ll go.”
His voice, like all of the Beasts’, had a faint lilt, an artifact of the secret tongue they speak amongst themselves. It sounded pretty but those pretty tones didn’t change the fact that he was lying. I had no doubt Lucius had issued orders for Simon to be killed or taken as well should the opportunity present itself.
“I’m not his to give,” I said, tightening my finger on the trigger. “And you haven’t thought this through, Rene.”
He cocked his head slowly. “Oh?”
“If Lucius wanted me dead, you wouldn’t be talking to me, you would’ve attacked already. If he wants me alive, then you can’t hurt me too badly. I doubt he’ll lock me up once I’m returned to him. Which means I’ll be free to visit all of you one night.”
His face turned unattractively sallow. “You wouldn’t.”
“Why not? I’m guessing they’re all younger sons like you. No heirs. No one will miss you that much. Lucius certainly won’t mind.”
“He’ll mind if we don’t come back with you.”
The scent of Beast grew stronger. They would be surrounding the hackney. But maybe not completely. Not yet. Perhaps they didn’t want to draw too much attention to themselves this deep in human territory and this close to a Haven. Technically the law didn’t protect you until you stood on actual Haven ground, but in practice, the surrounds of Havens were considered neutral territory.
Would they want to risk a full-out fight? Or could we escape if we acted quickly? If we could get away from them, we could get to St. Giles another way. Even leaping from the hackney from a closer position would be better than trying to fight through seven Beasts.
“Drive on,” I yelled suddenly, kicking out at Rene, hoping to knock him out of the carriage. It half worked. He went backward, but one long arm snaked forward and his hand clamped around my left wrist, pulling me off balance. We tumbled out of the hackney and onto the cobbles with a bone-jarring thud. I was on top, though, and hadn’t lost hold of my pistol.
I snapped my hand down, cracking the butt against Rene’s head as he lay there, seemingly stunned.
Behind me I heard the driver curse and crack his whip and the clatter of hooves as the horses obediently leaped forward. I couldn’t turn and watch, though, because Rene suddenly surged upward, dodging my instinctive punch and countering with one of his own. I launched myself up and back with an effort, hindered by the tugging pain in my side, trying to determine where the other six Beasts were and how far it was to the forecourt and to come up with a plan as I fought.
Rene was fast, and I was hamstrung by my half-mended side. His fist connected, right above the partially healed cuts. Stars bloomed in front of my eyes, bright as the pain.
I reeled back, blinking to clear my vision, then pointed the pistol in Rene’s direction, still half blind, and fired. Over the roar and boom of the gun, I thought I heard horses squealing behind me. Hells. Bystanders.
Just what the situation needed.
As my vision cleared, I saw Rene had fallen back, holding his side. Silver was even more dangerous to Beasts than it was to the Blood. If I’d hit him, he would be in serious pain. Even a minor wound from silver could be fatal if left untended too long. The other Beasts were gathered in a loose semicircle behind him.
I started to back away, angling toward the forecourt. Normally I’d bet on myself being able to outrun a Beast, but I wasn’t so sure right now.
One of the Favreaus, a brutish blond, started toward me, mouth twisted in a snarl, hands starting to twist and sprout claws. My side throbbed in remembered pain.
“Lily!” Simon’s voice startled me and I only just managed to stop myself from turning to see where he was. Or what in the name of darkness he was doing here when he should be safely disappearing in the distance in the hackney by now.
“Lily! Duck.”
What the hell? I did turn at that, then dropped to the ground as a ball of flame whistled past me. It hit the ground with a loud whoomp. A line of fire sprang up between me and the Beasts. The Favreau boy stopped, looking as startled as I felt. None of the Beasts had a liking for fire. Besides sil
ver, burns were the hardest injuries to heal, and this flame, whatever it was, burned a whitish shade of yellow that slapped hotly against my skin even from the ten or so feet between me and it.
Nothing natural about it, I was sure.
I hadn’t known that a sunmage could throw a fireball. Apparently the Beasts hadn’t either. But I wasn’t going to waste the momentary advantage surprise was giving me.
I hauled myself upright, turned, and sprinted toward the forecourt. From the corner of my eye, I saw Simon, standing in the middle of the road, watching me run.
Next to him stood a Templar knight in full regalia, poised with a longbow, already drawn again, a wicked-looking arrow nocked and ready to fire. The shaft gleamed in the sunlight—silver—my mind thought wildly as I leaped over the ditch at the side of the road, sprinted under the oak shadows with a sudden sensation of passing through a boundary, and hit the grass. I was only a few feet from safety.
Three more strides.
Two.
There was another whistling whoomping noise behind me and I flung myself forward, thinking that one of the Beasts must have made a move if the Templar was firing again. I hit the marble at a dead run as someone roared in pain and it took me several more paces to pull myself up enough to turn and see what was happening.
My chest heaved as I took in the scene. One of the Beasts—I couldn’t tell which, other than not Rene, as he was staring directly at me, hand still clasping his side and a snarl of hatred distorting his face—was rolling on the ground, his clothing smoking and charred.
A distinct smell of singed flesh wafted toward me and I smiled in satisfaction. The other five Beasts stood very still. As well they might. Simon’s Templar archer had brought some of his friends along. Guy, it seemed, had raised the alarm and sent the Templars to meet us. He must have guessed Simon would head for St. Giles.
I counted twelve mounted knights as they galloped from both ends of the road. There were probably others approaching on foot.
“Stand where you are,” one of the mounted knights bellowed as he drew to a stop next to Simon and the archer. It sounded like Guy. When he raised his visor, his identity was confirmed. He looked over to me. “That means you too,” he shouted.
