Blackbird Broken (The Witch King's Crown Book 2)

by Keri Arthur

  I snorted softly. “It’s not like they’ve any reason to come after me now that the sword has been claimed.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Meaning what?”

  She waved a hand. “Later. Go shower. The air in the room is becoming unbreathable.”

  I’d learned long ago straight answers and Mo weren’t often companions, but I nevertheless shook my head in frustration. “You are so annoying sometimes.”

  “Only sometimes?” She tsked again. “I’ll have to pick up my game. Go.”

  I gulped down the remains of my tea and hobbled—wincing all the way—into the bathroom. After plugging my phone into the charger, I flicked on the shower and grabbed a fresh bar of soap. It was lavender scented, which would go some way to erasing the demons’ stink from my skin. Nothing would ever erase it from my clothes—they’d have to be burned when I got home—but I could at least wash the worst of the blood and muck off them.

  Mo was on her phone when I finally came out of the bathroom, but waved me toward the bed. I lay on my stomach and closed my eyes, only half listening to the conversation. From the bits I could hear, she was talking to Barney—who was not only her current lover, but also the head of Ainslyn’s witch council. He didn’t sound happy.

  “We’ve a meeting with the builders at eleven,” Mo was saying. “But we can be at your place by one, if that’s okay.”

  Though I couldn’t hear exactly what he said, it sounded tetchy.

  “I know, and I’m sorry, but building a secondary line of defense across the main gate has drained me. I can barely lift my arms, let alone fly any great distance.”

  His reply sounded more conciliatory in tone, and Mo smiled. “Love you, too. See you soon.”

  “Do you?” I asked, as she hung up.

  “Probably not in the way he wishes, but there are many degrees of love.” She shrugged. “I’ve lost my heart many times over the centuries, but passion that burns the brightest doesn’t always last the longest. These days I prefer comfortable companionship over fervor.”

  Amusement twitched my lips. “The two are not mutually exclusive.”

  “They tend to be when you hit my age. Let’s get your back sorted out.” She tossed her phone onto her bed, then walked over to mine. “The bastard certainly took a good chunk out of you. He only missed your spine by a few centimeters.”

  “Will it heal okay?” I already had more than enough scars on my body, thanks to damn demons—or half-demons, as was the case when it came to the melted-looking burn scar that now ran the length of my right side. I really didn’t need anything else.

  “Of course it will. Now lie still while I get to work.”

  My immunity to magic had never curtailed Mo’s ability to heal the various cuts and scrapes I’d gotten over the years. Apparently, this was due to the fact that, although I’d never had access to the De Montfort gift of healing, it nevertheless resided somewhere in my DNA.

  As explanations went, it didn’t really make a lot of sense, but that was a very common theme when it came to Mo and answers.

  She pressed her fingers to either side of the wound, then her power rose, a wave of heat that swept through my body, easing the aches and chasing away the pain. My skin rippled and twitched as it was healed from the inside out and, though it didn’t hurt, it felt weird.

  The warmth of her magic and her touch finally left my skin. “Right, that’s all the major wounds healed. We’ll check the scrapes tomorrow, but the holy water should have taken care of any possible infection there.”

  She flopped onto her bed, closed her eyes, and lightly rubbed her forehead. Guilt flickered through me, though I knew nothing I could have said or done would have stopped her. The best I could do now was look after her—though in a way that couldn’t be considered ‘fussing’, as that was something she absolutely hated.

  I swung my feet off the bed. “You hungry?”

  “Enough to eat a horse.”

  I padded over to the small table. After flicking through the information booklet, I said, “We have the grand choice of Chinese, fish and chips, kebabs, or pizza if you want takeaway. There’s plenty of pubs, but given the state of my clothes, they’re out.”

  “I feel like pizza—do they deliver?”

  I flipped over the page. “No, but I can borrow your clothes and walk down there. It’s not far.” I hesitated, frowning at her. “Do you want me to pick something up for that headache?”

  A smile tugged her lips. “If there’s anything still open, that would be good.”

  Which meant the headache was bad. Mo hated taking tablets almost as much as she hated being fussed over—and for good reason. Most of her herbal concoctions worked far better and quicker than the pharmaceutical equivalent.

  I glanced at my watch. It was close to eleven, so I was cutting it fine if I wanted to find a SPAR or Co-Op Supermarket open. “You want anything else? A cup of tea before I go, perhaps?”

  She shook her head.

  I grabbed her pants and sweater and pulled them on. Thanks to the fact that Mo loved the loose Bohemian look, they fit perfectly, even though I was at least one size bigger than her. She also had a love for bright and clashing colors, though these harem pants were at least a staid pink floral print. They did clash rather alarmingly with the orange coat, however.

  Once I’d shoved on my still-wet shoes, I grabbed the room key and her purse and headed out. Thankfully, the Co-Op was still open, so I ducked in to get her painkillers and some chocolate, then continued on to grab our pizza. They were already packing up for the night, but I obviously looked in need of a serious feed, because they good-naturedly made my order.

  Mo was asleep by the time I got back, but stirred as I placed the pizza on the small table. “That smells good.”

  “And there’s painkillers for starters, and chocolate for dessert.”

  “You’re spoiling me.”

  “It’s about time I repaid the favor.” I tore the lid off the box, then placed half the pizza onto it. After handing it and the painkillers to her, I plonked down on the chair and reached for a slice. “What did Barney want to see you about?”

  She grabbed the bottle of water from her bedside table and downed the painkillers. “His nephew enhanced the photos of the glyphs you found on the back of the throne, and he wanted me there to translate the words.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “And that couldn’t wait?”

  A smile tugged her lips. “You have to understand that this is probably the most exciting thing that’s happened to him—and Ainslyn’s council in general—in a very long time.”

  I laughed. “And here I was thinking you were the most exciting thing that had happened to him, but maybe I’m being biased.”

  She smiled. “On a personal basis, I most certainly agree. But aside from the occasional demon incursion, there hasn’t been a whole lot for the council to deal with. Not for the last fifty years or so.”

  “They may find themselves quickly wishing the status quo had continued. Does he know the sword has been claimed?”

  “Not as yet.” She wrinkled her nose. “I thought a face-to-face would be best for that.”

  I picked up a second slice of pizza and bit into it. “If the main gateway does go down, what are we going to do? Uhtric had the advantage of a full witch army behind him. We haven’t that option these days.”

  Only scattered witch councils and seven witch lines whose power and fighting skills had faded with every new generation.

  “We do have the High Witch Council in London. They still have the power and the ability to draw all seven houses together.”

  The High Witch Council had once been the equivalent of the Privy Council, and responsible for advising the king and his executive on matters of the state. These days they were little more than an oversight council that settled disputes between witch houses. Of course, said disputes—while rare—were often brutal, bloody, and complicated, and only the most powerful
spells could cut through all the crap and magic to ferret out the truth. Mo had once been one of five witches tasked with that ferreting, though it had been a long time before she’d stepped in to raise Max and me after the death of our parents.

  “That’s still not going to help if the main gate is opened and the entirety of Darkside floods out.”

  “Maybe not, but also remember that human weapons have seriously advanced since Uhtric’s day.”

  “It was still witches who made the difference at the hospital when the demons went after Henry.”

  “Only because there were more demons than military present at the time. Had it been the reverse, it might have been a different story.”

  But still the same result. I squashed down the sadness and reached for a third slice of pizza. To say I was hungry was an understatement. “Has anyone actually informed the High Council what’s happening?”

  “Barney sent a missive when the tower’s vaults were attacked, but there’s been no chance to update them on more recent events.”

  The King’s Tower situated in Ainslyn was the only intact remnant of Uhtric’s castle. These days, it was little more than a tourist attraction and museum, though there was a secret witch repository tucked within the vaults—one that had recently come under attack from a witch working with both Darkside and the heir. A witch other than Tris, that is.

  “And a cup of tea would be lovely right now,” she added.

  I smiled and rose, grabbing the kettle before heading into the bathroom to fill it. And decided to ask the one question I’d been avoiding up until now. “Why do you really think Max was there tonight?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you did cast some sort of truth spell, didn’t you?”

  “Only a minor one.” She paused. “I’m surprised you picked it up and he didn’t.”

  I came out and put the kettle back onto its stand. “I’m more familiar with your recent magic.”

  “True.” She paused again. “There was no lie in anything he said.”

  “But?”

  “But I wish I’d had more time and strength to question him. He’s up to something, and I’d like to know what.” She grimaced. “I’d also like to think he’s not deeply involved in any of this, but Tris did contact him, and I’ve a feeling that wasn’t a coincidence.”

  “Which never did make sense—I mean, Max is an heir, however indirect, so why would they allow Tris to contact him? Why wouldn’t they just take Max out as they did the others?”

  “There are lots of things not making sense at the moment.” She shrugged. “Hopefully, I’ll have more of a chance to question him tomorrow.”

  “That’s if he turns up. He’s just as likely not to, given he might have to help with the cleanup.”

  I picked up the two cups of tea; she accepted hers with a smile. “I believe curiosity is the reason he turned up tonight, and I think it’ll be the reason he turns up tomorrow.”

  “Max and curiosity have never been bosom buddies.”

  “Unless there was a deal or money to be had.”

  True. I frowned. “There’s not much of a deal to be had when it comes to Darkside. Especially for an heir.”

  “Tris thought otherwise. And, heir or not, Max might well think the same.”

  “Meaning maybe we should be doing something tomorrow about bugging him. Or, at the very least, put a tracker on his car.”

  She smiled. “This is why you’re my favorite grandchild—you’re practical but sneaky, just like me.”

  I resisted the urge to point out that—technically—I wasn’t her grandchild or even her great-grandchild, as there were centuries more than that between us. “We might have to pull in either Mia or Ginny to help us. He’ll be watching for the two of us, given our recent show of distrust.”

  Ginny in particular would be a good choice, as she could track people, animals, or vehicles via the color and currents they left behind after movement. She also happened to be a detective with the major crimes unit; if there was a shady, big-money deal going down in Ainslyn, she’d probably know about it.

  “Good idea. In the meantime, you’d better send a message to your Blackbird, otherwise he’ll be ringing at some ungodly hour of the morning again.”

  I gave her a deadpan look. “He’s not my anything and never will be, given all he’s interested in is a short-term fling.”

  “Flings can still be fun.”

  “Yes, but I’m over being considered a short-term prospect rather than long.”

  “So agree to one, and work on the other.” Mischief twinkled in her eyes. “I speak from experience when I say it can certainly work.”

  I smiled. “I think it’s safe to say that I don’t have your good fortune when it comes to men.”

  “That’s your problem—no self-belief.”

  I rolled my eyes. “If I can’t hold the attraction of the man whose soul is supposedly linked to mine, what hope is there for me?”

  “Plenty.” She made a shooing motion. “Go contact him so we can get some rest.”

  I took a sip of tea, then headed into the bathroom to send him a text. It would have been far easier to call, but I was a little peeved at the man and avoiding direct contact where possible. His reply was quick and to the point—where are you now?

  Recovering. Be home tomorrow.

  I hit the mute button after I sent that, then put the phone down and walked out. Luc had made it very clear that his work as a Blackbird—the traditional protectors of witch kings—and his duty to the crown and the current queen were all he cared about or wanted in his life. The next step—if there ever was to be a next step in our so-far nonexistent relationship—had to be his. I’d certainly made it clear enough what I wanted.

  We finished our pizza, topped it off with some chocolate, and then I settled down to watch some late-night TV while Mo slept. I must have drifted off fairly quickly, because a sharply ringing phone woke me hours later. I opened my eyes and was met by daylight.

  “Tell them to bugger off,” Mo muttered. “It’s too damn early to get up.”

  I groped the bedside table between us, found her phone, and discovered it was seven, which wasn’t that much earlier than our usual weekday waking time. I hit the answer button and said, a little groggily, “Hello?”

  “Mo? That you?”

  “No,” I said, not immediately recognizing the woman’s voice. “It’s Gwen.”

  “Ah, the paradox. It’s her friend—Jackie. Is she around?”

  “She’s asleep.”

  “Then you need to wake her. I’ve got some news she’ll want to hear.”

  “I’m not waking her without good reason. She gets grouchy.”

  “I do not,” Mo refuted.

  “Then tell her,” Jackie said, “that I’ve finally found Jules Okoro.”

  Chapter Three

  The mysterious Jules Okoro—who wasn’t a relative of my mother’s as far as we could ascertain—was an indirect heir to the Witch King’s crown and, with the death of Gareth and Henry, now the only one ahead of Max. Why they were being killed instead of those whose bloodline could be traced back directly to Uhtric or even Layton was something Jackie had been researching.

  Although did it even matter anymore, given the sword had been claimed?

  Mo sat up and made a give-me motion. I handed the phone to her, then tossed the comforter aside and padded into the bathroom to check my clothes. My jeans and sweater were still damp, but my underclothes and shirt had at least dried. Demon scent still clung to everything, though. I grimaced and tugged them on regardless. I had a feeling we wouldn’t be hanging about for long, and smelly clothes were better than no clothes when we got to wherever Jules Okoro might be.

  Once dressed, I unplugged my phone and then glanced at the screen. Luc hadn’t replied to my last text, and that niggled. Which was stupid and irrational, but then, when it came to desire, irrationality seemed to be a common theme in my life.

  I shoved the phone and ch
arger into my pocket and headed out. Mo was in the process of getting dressed.

  “So where are we going?” I walked across the room and opened the window. The clouds were thick and gray, and the cold air filled with the promise of rain. Flying into a storm was not one of my favorite things to do, but it wasn’t like we had any real choice.

  “Thornaby.”

  “And that’s where, exactly?”

  She tsked. “Your knowledge of our great country is shocking.”

  “Maybe if I ever do get to your age, I’ll know all the little places. In the meantime, where the hell is it?”

  She laughed. “Over near Stockton-On-Tees.”

  Which didn’t make me any wiser, but I kept that to myself. “How come he was so hard to find?”

  “He was adopted as a babe—his legal surname is now Martin.”

  “Any record of his real parents?”

  “According to the hospital records Jackie found, his mother’s name was Hanna Okoro. No mention of a father. The mother disappeared from the hospital the day after he was born.”

  “I take it she was never seen again?”

  “No.”

  Not a good sign. “Are there any theories as to why?”

  “The retired nurse Jackie tracked down said it was obvious the girl had undergone major trauma.”

  “As in mugged? Or raped?”

  “Unclear. But she said the girl was covered in old scars, had the look of a frightened animal, and spoke gibberish. That’s the only reason the nurse remembered her. She also said she wasn’t entirely surprised when the girl disappeared.”

  “I gather the security cams were checked at the time?”

  “Yes. It appeared she was dragged away by two invisible men. Or maybe even women. It’s hard to guess gender when they’re invisible.”

  Invisibility spells wouldn’t hide the stink that came with demons, nor the click of steel-clad elf claws on floors, and that meant her abductors were probably human. Or, more likely, half human. “I take it her family were contacted?”

  “Eventually, yes, and that’s where it gets really interesting. They’re not only a previously unknown branch of the Okoro tree, but they claimed Hanna Okoro died in an accident ten years previously.”