by Alexis Hall
“Not at all, their pleasure is my power. I haven’t slept with anyone since I met you, and I don’t intend to.”
“For someone wearing another woman’s blood, you say the sweetest things.”
She wiped her lips and kissed me.
“Anyway, I’ve cracked the case,” I told her, some time later.
She sat up. “Time to go, kittens.”
I waited until the women had unchained each other and departed.
Julian reached up and brushed my face with light fingertips. “Who’ve you been playing with?” she asked.
“The King of the Court of Love.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not Anacletus,” I said. “It’s the King of the Court of Love. I got these bites fighting one of his minions, probably the same one that killed Andrew.”
Julian raised a sceptical eyebrow. “That makes no sense. I chopped him into pieces centuries ago.”
“He’s put himself back together. He’s under Clerkenwell right now.”
“Can they do that?”
“You don’t know a lot about faeries, do you?”
“Who does?” She shrugged.
Basically nobody, unless you happen to be killed by one, captured by one, or descended from one.
“Let me put it this way. You know how you sometimes get that feeling like you’re the only real person in the world?”
“All the time, sweeting.”
“For faeries,” I went on, “that’s really true. They sort of make their own worlds on the edges of ours. It’s like they’re the world and the world is them. You chopped the King of the Court of Love into pieces and threw him down a well. And then the people of London poured shit on him for eight hundred years. That kind of thing’s got to change your world view a bit.”
“I’d almost feel guilty if he wasn’t trying to kill me.”
“You shouldn’t. They don’t feel the way people feel.”
“Well, he’s doing a pretty good impression of it.”
“But that’s all it is: an impression.” Shit, this was hard to explain. I knew some stuff about faeries, but sometimes I didn’t know how I knew it. I’d probably inherited it, and that was fucking scary, because it meant some part of me thought that way too. “It’s like when my mum took my dad. She didn’t love him. She didn’t even fancy him.”
Julian blinked. “Then why would she take him?”
“It’s like,” I tried, “he was a character in a story she was telling herself.”
“Can we make this more about me, sweeting?”
I leaned in and kissed her. “Bad news, you’ve run into one of the few creatures in the universe more narcissistic than you are. It’s never going to be about you. It’s about him, the King of the Court of Love, and everything else is just, like, scenery in his world. He doesn’t hate you, he’s not angry at you, but having an enemy is part of who he is now.”
Julian nodded thoughtfully. “In which case, how do we kill him, and properly this time?”
“I have no idea,” I said. “I’ve never fought a faery lord. The ten killer nuns choppy choppy strategy seemed to go quite well.”
“Quite well? You’ve got a pretty funny definition of quite well. Nine of them died and he’s after the tenth.”
“Yeah, but it took eight hundred years.”
“Pardon me for considering the long game.” Suddenly she leapt to her feet, her head turning towards a noise I couldn’t hear. “Something’s wrong.”
She tore down the curtains over the gallery and, at that moment, the King of the Court of Love himself swept into the Velvet. He was about my height, maybe a little taller, slender and angular, with grey-brown wings folded at his shoulders, and ankle length hair flowing behind him. It was the colour of withered things, worms and insects weaving through the strands. He was wearing a twisted circlet of barbed wire and a robe made of some kind of glistening membranous material that I thankfully couldn’t identify. But beneath it I could see that his body was criss-crossed with scars, which seeped with yellow pus and maggots. He had another coil of wire curling round his arm like ivy and, on the other wrist, like a lover’s token, a string of tarnished steel beads. His face was eerily pristine.
He was followed by four of his knights, all of them still wearing ruined armour and tattered heraldry. They looked human, more or less: one of them had flies swarming from his eyes and mouth, the skin of another blossomed with rot and mildew, the third was a patchwork of squirming rats pressing outwards from his flesh, and the last, who was covered in strange lumps and pustules, had Ashriel impaled on a steel lance. As they came in, he thrust the lance into the wall, leaving Ashriel pinned and helpless.
The music cut out, replaced by screaming.
The King of the Court of Love drew twin swords from beneath his wings and started cutting people down with unhurried grace.
With a snarl, Julian vaulted over the railing. And, like that, she was on him. I lost them in a whirlwind of teeth and steel.
The rest of the club was carnage. Anyone who wasn’t falling to the knights was stampeding. I saw the Rat Knight throw someone to the ground, the rats embedded in his flesh tearing free and reducing his victim to nothing but chewed bones. Well, I guess that explained Alice.
For an unhelpful moment, I was frozen. I really wanted to swoop in and help Julian. But people were dying. It wasn’t sexy or glamorous, but the most important thing right now was to get the fucking fire doors open. I climbed up the railing and took a flying leap onto the bar. I landed in a crash of broken glass, pulled myself to my feet, and ran the length of the bar until I reached the fire doors, where poor old Andrew had waited pointlessly for his lover on the night he died. I kicked them open and started screaming for people to get the hell out. A tide of drunk, terrified goths poured into the alley, carrying me with them.
I forced my way back inside, through the last of the fleeing crowd, just in time to meet Mr. Lumpy coming the other way. He ripped a gilt railing from the bar and swung it at me hard. I ducked, and it shattered one of the mirrors on the other wall. I went for the iron dagger strapped to my arm, and he brought the bludgeon straight down towards my head, forcing me to roll past him through a scatter of broken glass.
Well, this was fun.
He spun around as I was coming to my feet and swung at me again. I dodged and dived forwards, ramming my dagger into his gut. His waxy white skin burst open, splurging congealed fat and matted black hair all over my hands and the floor. He shoved me backwards, my feet slipped on the crap that had just spilled out of him, and I landed flat on my back. Never a good place to be. Not in a fight, anyway.
He took the railing in both hands and thrust it down towards me. I rolled aside and the metal end gouged a chunk out of the space where my chest had been. I rolled back and grabbed the pole with my free hand. Mr. Lumpy brought all his weight to bear on it, forcing it down onto my throat. His wound was still dribbling lumps of fat and grease onto me, and the distorted, oozing face looming over mine was absolutely not the last thing I wanted to see before I died. I spun my knife, wriggled my arm free, and stabbed the blade into the vulnerable flesh beneath his chin.
His mouth opened, and he vomited his insides all over my face, before falling forwards on top of me. I heaved the body aside, wiped the gunk out my eyes, and sat up.
The Velvet was empty except for Ashriel’s body pinned to the wall.
Well, fuck didn’t cover it.
I scrambled to my feet and ran across the room to Ashriel. Normally, a little thing like a spear through the chest wouldn’t bother a demon, but Ashriel was a celibate incubus and nowhere near full power.
As I approached, he cranked open his eyes. “Fuck.”
“This is going to hurt,” I said. “How do you want it, slow and careful or quick like a plaster?”
He winced. “Why don’t you just leave it? It’s not so bad.”
“Quick it is then.”
“Wait—”
I brac
ed my hand against Ashriel’s shoulder and yanked. He fell to the ground, groaning.
“Are you going to be okay?” I tossed the spear aside and knelt down next to him.
He was on his hands and knees, struggling to breathe, oily, black blood pooling onto the floor beneath him and forming a network of shadowy cracks like the beginning of an earthquake.
He was not okay. Demons don’t really belong in our world, and it takes a lot of effort for them to keep a physical body. Beat them up badly enough, and the whole thing falls apart, and they get dragged back to Hell.
The ground broke open, fire and darkness pouring upwards through the widening fissures. A clawed hand reached out, seized Ashriel by the throat, talons hooking into his flesh and dragging him downwards. He gave a terrible scream.
I’ve had quite a lot of experience of this kind of thing, but I’ve never wanted to stop it happening before.
A couple more hands forced their way out and snatched at his wrists. Ashriel pulled his hand away, shredding his skin against the claw that held him, more blood spattering onto the floor and opening new portals full of scrabbling claws and fingers trying to push through.
I pulled out my sanctified steel knife and swiped at the nearest hand that wasn’t Ashriel’s. It let him go, but another rushed up to take its place. I stabbed a few more but this was clearly a holding pattern, and not a very good one. I was bad at whack-a-mole even when I wasn’t kneeling on the edge of a portal to Hell. I hooked him under the arms and tried to pull him towards me. But even with my mother’s power, I wasn’t stronger than an army of demons.
This was looking pretty bad.
Hell was literally opening under Soho, and it wouldn’t go away again until it got what it wanted. Closing that fucker would take proper angel magic, and I didn’t have any.
Oh, wait. Yes, I did.
I pulled Julian’s crucifix out of my pocket and flung it into the portal.
There was a high-pitched shriek and a flash like magnesium, and the ground snapped closed, leaving nothing but the faintest scent of sulphur and Ashriel sprawled face down on the ground, still bleeding but not in a drag-me-to-Hell kind of way.
I got the first-aid kit from behind the bar. It didn’t really have anything for impaling or hell-sucking, but there were bandages and plenty of gauze. I helped Ashriel into a sitting position and started patching him up as best I could.
“I think you’re kind of fucked here.”
He gave me a sickly smile. “It could have been a lot worse. Thanks.”
I kept bandaging. Thick black blood was seeping through the layers. This stuff was probably worth a bomb on the occult black market. “It doesn’t seem to be healing very well.”
“Celibacy and being run through don’t really go together. It’ll take a while.” He waggled an eyebrow. “Unless you want to take one for the team?”
“I’m on none of your teams. And I’m most definitely not on the ‘get your soul sucked out through your vagina’ team.”
“I was kidding. The last time I fell off the wagon was a hundred and ninety-seven years, five months, and three days ago.”
“Nearly got your two-centuries token, huh?”
“But in this state,” he went on anxiously, “I’ll take months to heal. And I can’t help Julian with a hole through the middle of me.”
This could get awkward. “Just so you know,” I told him, “if you start taking people, I’ll fucking put you down.”
“I am what I am, Kate.”
“I thought you’d made a choice to be different.”
“And I make it every day, but now I need to help my friend.”
“What happened? I kind of had a grease monster in my face.”
“That faery took her. I don’t know where.”
“I do. And I’m going to get her back.”
He stared at me. It takes a lot to startle an incubus, but I’d managed it. Go me. “That’s insane. That thing took Julian out. You’re a mortal.”
“Mostly mortal. And you want to go after it, and you’re a complete mess.”
He ran a hand through his hair, pulled himself to his feet, limped over to one of the less trashed booths, and flopped down. “I have to do something.”
“No, you don’t.” I sat down opposite. It was like we were on the worst date ever. “I have to do something. You have to stay here, get better, and not shag anybody to death.”
“At least tell me you’ve got a plan.”
“I’ve got a plan.”
“Really?”
“No, of course not. But I’ll figure something out.”
He put his head in his hands. “We’re fucked. Worse, Julian’s fucked.”
“We’re not fucked,” I said. “We know what it is and where it is. It’s just a question of taking it out. But first we need a clean-up crew. Because this is a fucking disaster area.”
I pulled out my phone and was halfway through dialling Patrick’s number when I realised how weird it was that I could still do that so easily after more than a decade.
He answered on the first ring. “Katharine.”
“We’ve got a situation at the Velvet. Get here now.”
“I’ll always be there for you, Katharine.”
“Just do your job, Patrick.” I hung up. “All right,” I went on. “Operation Rescue Julian. Go.”
We sat there in silence for a couple of minutes.
“Well, I’m in,” offered Ashriel.
“Great. So we have a mighty army of you and me. And we have to assault the impregnable otherworld fortress of an indestructible faery lord to rescue an eight-hundred-year-old vampire who’s more powerful than either of us.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“We’re going to need backup, aren’t we?”
“Backup? We’re going to need front-up. And maybe side-up as well.”
“Okay,” I said. “Who’s the most powerful person you know?”
He thought about it for a moment. “The Metatron. But we haven’t spoken for a really long time, and I don’t think he approves of my lifestyle choices.”
“Okay,” I tried again, “who’s the second most powerful you know?”
“Lucifer.”
“One more time. Who’s the most powerful person you know who wasn’t actively involved in the War in Heaven? Apart from Julian.”
“Anacletus.”
“Okay. Really one last time. Who’s the most powerful person you know who wasn’t actively involved in the War in Heaven, isn’t the person we’re trying to rescue, and might actually help us.”
“Tricky. I know plenty of minor demons, but they don’t approve of my lifestyle choices either. Since they took out the Morrigan, the major powers in this city are the vampire princes.”
“Aeglica should help us,” I said. “This is kind of his bag.”
“This is the plan then, is it?” Ashriel spread his hands despairingly. “We assemble an unlikely team of misfits, descend into the sewers, and learn important lessons about friendship while getting murdered by faeries.”
“Pretty much. Unless you have a better idea?”
“Unbelievably, I don’t. So, who’s the most powerful person you know?”
I didn’t even have to think about it. “Nimue.”
“Do you think she’d help?”
“Julian just tried to murder her, but, I don’t know, it’s complicated.”
“Isn’t everything?”
“Katharine.” That was Patrick, creeping up on me as usual.
Speaking of complicated. “Hey.” I didn’t look round.
“Katharine, are you all right?” He leaned over me and took my hand. I pulled it back. “You’re hurt.” He glared at me. And then his voice trembled. “You’re bleeding.”
He had a point. There’d been a lot of broken glass, and I’d spent a lot of time rolling in it. I could feel cuts stinging on my arms, but my coat had protected me from the worst of it.
Patrick turned away dramatic
ally. “Stay back. I am not certain I can control my hunger.”
“Patrick, stop being a dick. We’ve got a bunch of bodies to deal with, and a bunch of people who saw something really fucking weird and could be anywhere by now.”
He still had his back to me. “You should have sealed the area.”
“Then everybody would be dead.”
“Some sacrifices are necessary. Nobody knows that more than I.”
I sighed. “Well, it’s too late now. Handle it.”
“What happened here?” he demanded.
“Faery lord. Massacre. He took Julian.”
“Details, Katharine.”
I gave Patrick a play by play, while he made calls. Finally he put the phone down.
“See, Katharine,” he said, “see where your involvement with Julian Saint-Germain has led you.”
I sighed. “I’m not the one who got kidnapped. I’m fine.”
“Nevertheless, she put you in danger.”
“Shut up, Patrick. I’ve got a rescue to plan.”
“What about Kauri?” suggested Ashriel. “He’s young, but he’s still a vampire.”
“Katharine,” interrupted Patrick. “You can’t. It’s too dangerous.”
I face-palmed. “Patrick,” I said wearily, “I’m busy. I’m putting a team together to go down the sewers and rescue my girlfriend. Now get out of my face.”
“I will not permit it, Katharine.”
“Not up to you. I’m going.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
I slumped onto the table. “You know, fine. If you want to come, you can come. Because, honestly Patrick, I don’t care what you do. Just don’t fuck this up.”
“I will protect you.”
“Fine. Whatever. We’ll meet at the old Sessions House in Clerkenwell at half eleven tomorrow night.”
“Is tomorrow soon enough?” asked Ashriel.
“It’ll have to be. We have to go at night so the vampires are at full power, and we have to wait for the waters to go down.”
“She could be dead by then.”
“She’s in a faery realm. They don’t have time like we do.”
“So, then, we can take as long as we like? We could get the whole Council in, even the Arcana?”
