by Morgan Hawke
Tension bled from Thorn’s body. Her shoulders slumped, and her eyes became heavy. She wasn’t exactly tired, just…very relaxed. “You’re a total conniving bastard, you know that?”
“Why, so I am.” He rose from his chair and scooped her up, coat and all. “But even conniving bastards have their uses.”
Thorn wanted to struggle, but she just…couldn’t.
Belus sat back down in the chair with her sprawled across his lap, wrapped in his coat. Her head fell back over his arm, her silver hair spilling onto the floor. He cupped her jaw, turning her to face him. “Werewolves can be very useful indeed. Pity you already have a master.”
Thorn barely had the energy to turn her head away. “He’s not my master.”
Belus snorted. “I beg to differ.” He parted the coat, and his nails traced down her belly. “What is written on your body clearly states otherwise.”
Thorn shuddered. “Don’t…touch me.”
Belus chuckled and closed the coat over her. “Remain calm. I have no designs on your…chastity.”
“That is very good. You will breathe longer.” The breathless growling voice came from the shattered floor directly above.
Belus looked up. “Does our prince know you are here, count?”
Count? Thorn squinted into the shadows above but couldn’t make out any trace of movement. That voice was Yaroslav? It didn’t sound anything like him.
“Our prince knows you have taken Thorn.”
Belus snorted. “But of course. I did not exactly conceal my actions. However, shouldn’t you be engaged in decoding a certain plague serum?”
“The serum was very pure and not very stable. It was child’s play to decode. Release her.”
“I’m afraid I still have need of your rather ferocious little companion.” Belus’s gaze narrowed, and his mouth curved up into smile. “You are welcome to come down and join us.”
Thorn stiffened. “No! Don’t! There are wires!”
Whispers of movement came from the deep shadows, and the planks above creaked. “Yes, I see Ariadne’s web.”
Belus shrugged. “It’s only strung around us, not overhead. If you come straight down you will not encounter them.”
“Why should I? Do you have a use for me also?”
Belus chuckled, low and vicious. “You know better than most what use I have for maguskind.” He tilted his head. “However, I strongly suspect you would give me a terrible case of indigestion.”
A board creaked above. “If not poisoning.”
“Quite.” Belus’s lip curled. “Out of sheer curiosity, how did you get here so quickly?”
“Oh, I have my ways.” Something twirled lazily downward from the shadows above. It was a black feather. A huge black feather. It fell into the light, gleamed briefly, then disintegrated into smoke.
Thorn stared. Ah, so that’s why his voice is off. He was in his winged shape. She frowned. Could that have been Yaroslav she had seen on the top of the train?
The chugging snarl of an approaching steam-powered vehicle caught Thorn’s attention. She turned to look beyond Belus’s shoulder toward the stairwell.
Belus turned to her and frowned. “What is it?”
She frowned. “I think it’s a steam car.”
Belus lifted his brows. “A steam car?”
Thorn nodded slowly. “Coming this way.”
Belus looked up at the ceiling. “Count, it seems we are about to have company.” His serpent appearance faded into that of a normal human, his booted feet crossed at the ankles. “Would you care to assist me while I question our guest, whom I surmise is the plague beast?”
“The plague beast?” A shadow shifted at the left side of the shattered floor above.
“What better way to find the master than by asking its servant?”
“Is that why you’ve spun Ariadne’s web?”
Belus shrugged. “I thought it an efficient method, as the beast is under sanction.”
Thorn stilled. “Under sanction” meant sentenced to die. They were talking about the deadly wire and Max.
“I see.” A board creaked, and plaster peelings fell from the ceiling. “Would you care to put out that bane fire?”
Belus smiled, showing his slender fangs. “And take the chance that I might be attacked by hostile magic?” He snorted. “I think not.”
On the floor below, something rumbled and then crashed. The floor planks trembled. A screaming howl burst from close by.
Thorn’s heart slammed hard, and the fur rose all down her spine. That sound might have been Max, but it was the sound of pain and terror, not anger. The wolf sharing her soul suddenly awoke, bringing forth the sharp sizzle of white fire that seared deliciously through her blood. Her mind cleared completely. “Something’s wrong….”
“Something certainly is.” Belus grabbed the hair at the back of her neck, jerking her back against him. He caught her jaw, forcing her head back to lock gazes with her. “You should not be this alert.”
Thorn grabbed for his wrist, wincing. “Let go!” Pain stabbed into the back of her skull and blazed down her spine. Her back arched, and she gasped. Writhing sharply, she fell off Belus’s lap and landed on her side, groaning. Broken lines of blue flickered under her skin, hinting at a pattern. Delicate swirls of bright yellow erupted and intertwined, snuffing out the blue lines one by one, creating a different pattern entirely.
“What is this?” Belus knelt over her, grabbed Thorn’s coat, and yanked it off her. He stared at the conflicting pattern appearing all over her body. A smile bloomed. “So, that is your little secret.” He stood and laughed. The sound was deep and full of triumph.
Thorn shuddered under the onslaught. Abruptly the pain stopped. She sucked in a deep breath and sat up carefully. She watched the gold lines fade under her skin. Whatever it was that had just happened was over.
A dark shadow dropped from the floor above, landing heavily on the floorboards three strides away. Yaroslav rose from his crouch in his customary black fur coat, his long hair still bound in its neat braid. Black feathers floated down from above and disintegrated into smoke and ash. “Belus….”
Belus turned and crossed his arms, his smile broad, but his eyes narrowed. “You have no reason to fear, count. The prince said quite plainly you had his permission for her…claim.”
“But I did not give my permission for her theft.” The voice was crisp, sharp, and pure Oxford English.
Thorn knew that voice. She had not heard it in many years, but she would know it anywhere. She twisted sharply, coming up into a crouch, every hair on her body bristling.
A bearded man in a bowler hat and a long winter coat stepped from the far staircase and strode toward them. He stopped at the edge of the light, just beyond the glinting threads. The light reflected on his round spectacles and gleamed down the silver walking stick he carried. “I will ask you, politely, to return my property.”
Belus lifted his chin. “And who might you be?”
“I am Dr. Richard Marcus Townsend, a professor of alchemy at Oxford. That child is my creation.”
“Oh?” Belus pursed his lips, and his brows rose. “But what of your other creation, the one called Max?”
“I’m afraid Mr. Rykov is…not quite himself at the moment.” Dr. Townsend tilted his head slightly to the side. “Might I know who I am speaking to?”
Belus smiled. “But of course! I am Vicompte Belsarius Antimony Svorsa of Venice.” He held out his hand toward Yaroslav. “This is Count Feodor Yaroslav Iziaslavich of Kiev.”
Dr. Townsend raised his chin. “Ah, count, would you happen to be any relation to Master Feodor Yaroslav Iziaslavich, the watchmaker? I have a matter of some urgency to address with him.”
Thorn stilled. What…? He knew Yaroslav?
“I am.” Yaroslav took a single step toward Belus and Thorn. “However, I am sad to say my grandfather passed away last month.”
Dr. Townsend shook his head. “My condolences on your loss.”
/> Yaroslav’s brows rose. “If I recall, my grandfather exchanged letters with a Professor Phillip Townsend, a doctor of philosophy in Oxford?”
The doctor smiled. “Oh, yes, that was my paternal grandfather.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a gold pocket watch at the end of a chain. “In fact, I inherited this rather peculiar watch from him, but it stopped running. I was hoping Master Yaroslav could repair it.”
Yaroslav smiled tightly. “I’m afraid that is no longer possible.”
“A pity….” Dr. Townsend shook his head sadly. “You see, my interests in the arcane began with this watch.”
Belus lifted his brow at Yaroslav. “You don’t say?”
“Oh, yes, a watch that ran without ever needing to be wound?” The doctor tucked the watch back into his pocket. “It piqued my interest quite a lot. Unfortunately it stopped the day my grandfather died. I took it apart and could get it to tick for short periods of time, but I couldn’t quite master the technique of keeping it running.”
Belus continued to smile at Yaroslav. “That does sound rather…interesting.”
Yaroslav snorted and spoke under his breath. “All the interest in the world does not make a talent appear without previous potential.”
“So, count…” the doctor leaned forward on his walking stick, “would you happen to share in your grandfather’s…interests?”
Yaroslav’s gaze narrowed. “It could be said that I do.”
Dr. Townsend clasped his hands together. “Splendid, simply splendid! I have so many questions to ask you!”
Yaroslav smiled tightly. “And I have quite a few for you as well. Shall we begin with why you created a plague of the walking dead?”
Dr. Townsend stilled. “Ah…”
“And why did you make me a werewolf?” Thorn rose to her feet and stepped forward, wanting him to see her nude body and what it had become.
The doctor waved a hand distractedly. “My child, all scientists experiment….”
What? Thorn’s hands fisted at her sides. “I was an experiment?”
Dr. Townsend smiled. “One of my first successes, I might add.”
Thorn’s mouth fell open. Warping a human being into something else was a success?
Yaroslav crossed his arms. “And the plague of dead? Was that, too, an experiment?”
“Oh, no, that was by request.” The doctor sighed. “The Turks are having troubles with the Russians, so I was asked to create something for the Turkish war efforts. It was just something I threw together.” He shook his head. “Why they released it among the farmers in the Balkans is beyond me. It was supposed to be released in Russia.”
Thorn scowled. Oh, and Russia would have been so much better? Was this doctor out of his mind?
Yaroslav’s jaw clenched. “Those creatures appeared in my grandfather’s town in Walachia.”
The doctor smiled. “But of course! I wanted to impress him with my work!”
Yaroslav’s hands fisted. “They destroyed the town utterly.”
Dr. Townsend shrugged. “These things do happen.”
Belus lifted one finger. “If I might ask, you were asked to…make the dead walk, by whom?”
Dr. Townsend looked away. “By…someone of influence in the diplomatic community.”
Yaroslav frowned. “Your government knows about your…work?”
“They know.” The doctor lifted his shoulder in a small shrug. “They just don’t quite believe it. However…” he smiled, “I have acquired some rather influential financial support for any research I care to explore. In return, I do my patriotic duty, when asked.”
“Your patriotic duty?” Thorn gasped. “Do you know how many innocent people your plague has killed?”
Dr. Townsend shook his head and sighed. “My dear child, that’s what wars do. They kill people.”
Yaroslav shook his head and turned away. “Towns end, an appropriate name.”
Belus smiled at the doctor. “Why don’t you come into the light so we can have a proper discussion, Dr. Townsend?”
28
Dr. Townsend, creator of the plague of walking dead, and maker of both Max and Thorn, lifted a hand to adjust his round spectacles and frowned. “I would love to stay and chat. However…” he lifted his silver walking stick, “it seems there is a rather interesting collection of thread strung between the pillars.” He brought his walking stick down amidst the wires.
A shower of sparks danced along the cane.
The doctor hastily pulled back his cane. “Ah, my mistake, it is very fine wire, and it seems to be somewhat electrified.” He ran his gloved hand along the length of his cane, and his brows rose. “Not to mention deucedly sharp. You’ve quite scarred the silver.” He cleared his throat. “And so I believe I shall decline your invitation.” He lifted his chin. “So if you don’t mind, I’d like to have my creation returned. I have a rather urgent matter that needs my attention.”
Thorn crossed her arms over her breasts and curled her lip, showing one long fang. “I am not going anywhere with a homicidal lunatic like you!”
“Now, now…” Belus glanced at Thorn. “Let’s not lose our temper to name calling.”
“Fine.” Thorn grabbed the chain he held. “Can we lose this instead?”
Yaroslav stepped closer. “I would see that chain off my companion.” His hands closed on the sheathed knives at his hips.
Belus lifted his brow. “I see your point.” He turned to Thorn. “Do you promise not to try to eat…the snake?”
Thorn shot Belus a level glare. “Does the snake promise to leave me the hell alone?”
Yaroslav stepped close to the pair of them and frowned from one to the other. “Thorn does not eat people.”
Thorn smiled at Belus, showing her teeth. “Snakes taste different from people. I find them quite delicious.”
Yaroslav’s brows rose, and he looked over at Belus. “You don’t say?” His mouth twitched into something vaguely resembling a smile. “How very…appropriate.”
Belus shot Yaroslav a glare. “I want your oath that you will you keep control of her appetites.”
Yaroslav sighed and turned to Thorn. “I’m afraid the prince would not be amused if you ate one of his appointed senators.”
“Was that supposed to be reassuring?” Belus’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
Beyond the gleaming threads, the doctor frowned. “A senator? To what prince? What country do you people represent, anyway?”
He was ignored.
Thorn rolled her eyes and sighed as dramatically as she could. “Oh, all right. I won’t eat the snake.” She narrowed her eyes at Belus and growled. “As long as he promises to never try something like this again.”
Belus rolled his eyes in an equally dramatic gesture. “Oh, very well….” He smiled. “I promise I will never use you without your permission again.”
Thorn tilted her head. That didn’t sound quite right, but it was probably the best she could get at the moment, and she really wanted the chain off. “Fine. Agreed.” She tugged on the chain. “Get this off me.”
Belus reached out to grasp the choker chain around her neck and lifted it up over her head and off. “There.”
“Thank you.” Thorn lashed out with a hard, fast, jabbing punch, using every ounce of power she could muster. It landed perfectly in Belus’s belly.
Belus folded over and staggered back two steps, gasping for breath.
“Enough.” Yaroslav grabbed Thorn’s upper arm, pulling her back, but his mouth twitched upward, and his eyes were creased with barely disguised humor.
Belus slowly straightened, glaring at Thorn. “That was…sneaky.”
“Yeah, I know.” Thorn curled her lip in a vicious smile. “But, hey, I kept my promise not to eat you.”
Yaroslav slid out of his coat, revealing a pair of long knives buckled at his hips and strapped to his thighs. “Thorn, don’t pick on the sn—the senator.” He draped his coat over Thorn’s bare shoulders. “We shall leave
you to your…entertainments.” His voice dropped to a soft whisper. “Don’t forget—the prince wants him alive.”
“Excuse me. Hello?” The doctor raised his silver walking stick. “My creation, if you please?”
Yaroslav scowled at the doctor. “She is not your creation anymore. She is mine.”
Thorn stiffened and glared up at Yaroslav. “What…?”
Yaroslav clapped his hand over her mouth. “Doctor, your original aspect was misaligned and profoundly flawed. In fact, it was so very poorly constructed I was forced to replace her making entirely, removing all trace of your mark on her. And, as such, she is no longer yours. “
Thorn grabbed Yaroslav’s wrist. Damned possessive vampire! She yanked his hand off her mouth. “Yaroslav!”
“That is entirely beside the point!” The doctor straightened sharply. “I made her. I want her back!”
Thorn aimed a snarl at the doctor. “Go to hell!”
Yaroslav set his arm over Thorn’s shoulders. “Fear not; he will see hell.” He glanced at Belus and smiled pleasantly. “Sometime quite soon, in fact.”
Belus smiled right back and licked his lips.
Yaroslav turned away, encouraging Thorn to turn with him. “Good-bye, Dr. Townsend.”
“Stop!” Dr. Townsend raised his silver cane, waving it. “You don’t understand! I need her!”
Belus straightened the lapels of his coat. “You don’t understand, doctor. She has already gone beyond your reach.”
The doctor gripped his silver cane and raised it. “Nothing is beyond my reach!” He slammed the heel of his cane on the floorboards. “Come!”
Something huge crashed, making the floor shake and dust fall from the broken rafters. It sounded to Thorn like it was large enough to be one of the big machines on the floor below.
Something heavy and metallic scraped at the bottom of the stairwell.
Thorn froze and then turned back to face the stairs.
Yaroslav turned with her.
