by Keri Arthur
The door closed, and the elevator slowly began to ascend. It came to a bouncy stop, then the door opened, revealing what was obviously a library archive. There were soldier lines of bookcases stuffed with all manner of books, and what looked to be vintage wooden map drawers lining the wall opposite the elevator.
Luc stepped out and then turned left, walking down a narrow corridor to an area at the back of the building. The arched windows had been covered with some sort of opaque film that diffused the light—maybe to protect the books in the nearby bookcase, which looked and smelled far older than the volumes nearer the elevator. The space between the bookcase and the rear wall was obviously a designated reading and researching area; not only were there half a dozen antique-looking mahogany tables, but also a number of comfortable leather lounging chairs. Near the rear was a small kitchenette.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Luc asked. “I’m afraid we’ve only tea bags, not leaf—”
“Bags are fine.” I looked around. “The scroll’s not here.”
“No, but Ricker will have been informed that we’ve arrived and bring it up.”
I pulled out a chair and sat down at the nearest table. The wood was almost black with age and heavily scratched and dented by time and use. “Why isn’t it already here, in the archive?”
“Because the main meeting area is on the second floor, as it’s the most secure. It’s also where the round table is located.”
“Meaning I’m not going to see this mythical table of yours? Damn.”
“No one sees that table but Blackbirds.” He filled the kettle and then placed it back onto its stand and flicked it on.
“Shame, because there’s definitely a tourist market for anything involving Witch King antiquities.”
He glanced at me, amusement twitching his lips. “I actually can’t tell if you’re serious or not.”
I grinned. He rolled his eyes and added, “Not.”
As he made our drinks, the bell above the ratty old elevator pinged, and the doors clanged open. The man who appeared a few seconds later was older than Luc by about ten years, if the amount of silver in his short black hair was anything to go by. His face also lacked the utter perfection of Luc’s, thanks mainly to his jawline, which was much squarer and had a bold indent. His eyes were the same glorious shade of jade but his build longer and leaner. In his right hand was what looked to be a rolled-up bit of leather.
“Luc! Good to see you again, buddy.” His deep voice was filled with warmth, but his bright gaze centered swiftly on mine. “I’m Ricker, and you’re no doubt Gwen. I hear you’re causing Luc all manner of problems.”
I grinned and briefly shook his offered hand. “And it’s all well deserved, let me tell you. Is that the translation scroll you’re holding?”
“Yes.” He carefully unrolled it along the table. “It’s a bit hard to read, though, thanks to the fact it had been shoved into the back of a damn cabinet and forgotten about. Time has not been its friend.”
The scroll was made out of some sort of hide that had a faintly disgusting smell, but the center portion of it was supple and had a rich patina of color. Its edges were dried out and cracked.
I crossed my arms to prevent accidently touching it and leaned closer. It was written in Latin rather than English—no real surprise given the age of the thing, but annoying given it wasn’t a language I knew.
Luc handed me a mug of tea. I thanked him with a nod and tried to ignore his big warm presence as he stopped beside me. “Can either of you read it?”
Both men nodded. Ricker pulled some papers from his pocket and placed them on the table. Not only did most of them look ratty, but they also appeared to be stuck together with sticky tape.
“The notes you found at Karen Jacobs’s place, I take it?”
Ricker nodded. “We’ve already partially transcribed them. These two”—he lightly touched two of the five sheets of paper—“are nothing more than a record of purchases.”
I frowned. “What sort of purchases?”
“That’s where it gets interesting,” Ricker said. “They appear to be stockpiling weapons.”
“That’s no real surprise given who has claimed the sword,” Luc said.
Ricker glanced up at him sharply. “Last I heard, we didn’t actually know who’d drawn the sword.”
“And we still haven’t absolute confirmation,” he said. “But it’s almost certain that Max De Montfort was that person.”
Ricker’s gaze cut to me. There was a decided coolness there now. “Have you talked to him?”
“No, and I’m not sure I want to, given that any confrontation is likely to get very ugly.”
He studied me a few seconds longer and then nodded. Some warmth crept back into his expression. “They mention five locations. We’ve been in contact with the witch councils in all five areas; a coordinated, simultaneous assault will happen at dawn tomorrow.”
“We’ll have people at each location, I take it?” Luc asked.
Ricker nodded. “That’s why the attack was delayed—it gives us time to get there.”
“Good.” Luc glanced down at me, something I felt more than actually saw. “Do you want to Bluetooth the photos you took of the papers in the church across to the printer? It’ll be easier than trying to read them on a small screen.”
I placed my tea on the chair next to me so there was no danger of me knocking it all over the translation scroll and then grabbed my phone and made the printer connection.
As Ricker walked over to retrieve the printouts, I leaned over the table and took several photos of the scroll. While it might be perfectly safe here in the heart of the Blackbird’s headquarters, there was probably little chance of me ever returning to view it. It’d be handy to have something to use if we found anything else written in Darkside script.
As I shoved my phone into my pocket, dust fell like a fine rain from the ceiling. I frowned and glanced up; a small hairline crack was inching across the ceiling and the pendant light swayed lightly. But it wasn’t the only thing on the move—a jolt ran through the building, and everything sitting on the kitchen counter crashed to the floor.
Ricker stopped abruptly, and Luc surged to his feet. As his chair fell backward with a crash, an alarm sounded, its shriek so loud it hurt my ears. It was followed by a loud whoomph, and the whole building shuddered. The crack in the ceiling widened, and bits of wood joined the plaster and dust raining around us.
I’d seen all this once before—in my bedroom when Darkside’s witchling had attempted to bury me under the collapsing roof.
The Blackbirds’ headquarters was under attack.
Chapter Ten
Luc grabbed my arm and hauled me upright. “We need to get to a safe—”
“There is no fucking safe place,” I snapped back, ripping my arm from his grip. “This is what they did at our shop—and this time, Mo’s not here to stop the whole building from coming down. We need to get out.”
“Not even they have the power to bring the whole building down,” Ricker said. “Not a building this size, anyway.”
“Do you want to risk the lives of everyone in this building on that?” I grabbed my knives out of the pack and strapped them on. “As I said, the only reason they didn’t succeed with us in Ainslyn was thanks to the fact that Mo was able to counter the attempt. So unless you’ve got a goddamn mage handy, this place is coming down.”
He didn’t get a chance to respond. The building shuddered violently and then twisted oddly, sending him staggering into a table.
“Trust what she says,” Luc growled. “And call an immediate evac.”
Ricker swore and staggered across to a panel on the wall. He flipped a switch and then said, “This is an all-points emergency. Darkside is attempting to collapse the building. Evacuate immediately. I repeat, evacuate immediately.”
His voice blasted out of unseen speakers throughout this floor and no doubt the others. As another shudder went through the old building, I lunged
across the table and grabbed the scroll and Ricker’s notes, hastily rolling them up before tucking them safely into my belt. I might have photos, but the real thing was always better.
“This way,” Luc commanded, and ran for the emergency exit sign. As he hauled open the door, a huge chunk of concrete fell down, crushing the railings and taking out several steps.
“The lift is likely to be even more dangerous,” Ricker growled. “We’re fucking trapped.”
“There’s still the windows,” I said.
“The windows are barred, and it’s a fucking four-story drop,” Ricker growled. “And neither Luc nor I can fly.”
“No, but Gwen can and she can also—” He grabbed my arm and dragged me back. A heartbeat later, a huge chunk of timber crashed down. We would have been crushed had we still been standing there. “Ricker—get a rope.”
As the older Blackbird staggered toward a cabinet whose doors were swinging widely in time to the increasingly violent gyrations of the building, I dragged my daggers out of their sheaths and called on the lightning. It streaked through the thick, dusty air and shattered the nearest window’s glass, sending glittery shards flying outwards into the night. I flicked the energy around in an arc, cutting a wide enough hole in the thick metal bars for the two men to climb through.
I’d barely shoved the daggers back into their sheaths when there was a massive crack and a good portion of the floor between us and the other man began to disintegrate.
“Ricker,” Luc shouted. “Move—now!”
Ricker looped the rope around his shoulders then ran straight at the ever-widening gap. As he neared the edge he leapt high, but the gap had already grown wider than his leap.
He wasn’t going to make it.
Luc swore, leapt over the table, and lunged forward, grabbing his cousin’s outstretched hands just as he was beginning to drop. The force of his abrupt stop had Luc grunting in effort and, for several seconds, the two men were immobile, one prone on the increasingly unstable floor and the other swinging lightly over a dark and dusty drop. Then, with another grunt of effort, Luc slowly but surely hauled Ricker upward until he was close enough to grab the edge and drag himself the rest of the way.
More ceiling fell, and huge cracks began to appear in the walls. I swore and staggered over to the window. The thick dust in the room was now funneling out the broken window, making it almost impossible to see what lay beyond.
Luc grabbed the rope off Ricker. “There’s an external fire escape on the building opposite. Secure the rope, and we’ll shimmy over.”
The floor under the end of the bookcase closest to the seating area dropped several feet. Wood split, and the lovely old books were tipped out, disappearing into the ever-widening gap.
“And hurry,” Ricker added unnecessarily.
I undid my knives and thrust them at Luc. “Lose them and I’ll kill you.”
With that, I shifted shape, grabbed the end of the rope with my claws, and flew out the window. The fire escape that zigzagged down the rear of the other building didn’t look all that well maintained, which was surprising given the spate of new rules that had come into existence a few years ago after several horrible residential tower fires.
I shifted shape and landed with a clang on the metal landing, then quickly secured the rope, using the bowline knot we’d been taught when Max and I had gone through a brief ‘we need to learn sailing’ stage. Which was well before we’d hit our teens and—in Max’s case at least—discovered flesh-based passions.
The rear wall of the Blackbirds’ building began to splinter, and chunks of bricks and slate crashed down to the yard below. I leaned over the railing; it was only then I saw the forming sinkhole. Fear slammed into my chest.
“Luc, Ricker, get over here now!” I couldn’t see either man; the billowing smoke and dust was just too thick. “Half the building is about to collapse into a sinkhole.”
Ricker leapt out of the window, caught the rope, then crossed his legs over it and shimmied across. As I helped him over the railing, Luc leapt out and repeated Ricker’s movements.
He was halfway across when, with a noise that almost sounded like the groan of a dying beast, part of the rear wall gave way and tumbled to the ground, taking the rope—and Luc—with it.
“No!” I darted back to the railing and peered over, trying to see through the thick dust and rubble. “Luc? Answer me!”
For several gut-wrenching seconds, there was no reply. Then, in a voice hoarse with pain, he said, “Here. Two flights down.”
It was only then that I noticed the rope was taut rather than slack. The collapsing building might have taken it down, but Luc had somehow hung on. I bolted down the stairs, the clatter of my steps lost to the groans of the still-dying building.
In one of the still-functioning, calmer back sections of my brain, I fervently hoped the building was the only thing that was …
By the time I got to Luc, he was already climbing over the railing. I threw myself at him and just clung on for several seconds. His arms went around me, and his lips brushed the top of my head.
“I’ll no doubt have a pretty array of bruises come tomorrow,” he said softly, “but I’m okay. And so are your knives.”
“Good.” It was telling that I hadn’t even thought of the daggers. I pulled back as Ricker joined us and added, “They’d have to be fairly close to be causing this sort of defined damage.”
“I hardly think it’s defined,” Ricker growled. “They’re bringing the whole fucking place down.”
“But not the ones on either side.” Which was odd, really, because surely it would have taken less effort to just collapse them all.
Unless, of course, Max didn’t want too many innocents caught in the destruction—which was a bit of a laugh considering the mess Darkside would make of everyone if and when he managed to open the main gate.
“They can’t be on the street—this sort of magic takes time, and it’d be too obvious,” Luc said. “They have to be underground—in the sewers.”
“There’s a manhole not far from here,” Ricker said. “Let’s go.”
We scrambled down the remaining stairs, darted through the dust and debris still crashing down, somehow avoiding getting crushed in the process, then clambered over the fence dividing us from the next property. Ricker crashed through the rear door of a building two down from the Blackbirds’ and led the way through the maze of back rooms into the main café area. Though the place was empty, meals and coffee lay abandoned on a number of tables, and multiple chairs had been tipped over, suggesting everyone had left in a hurry. Dust fell freely from the ceiling, and the alarm was strident and ear-piercing. It wasn’t alone though—multiple alarms were going off up and down the street.
Ricker flung open the front door, paused briefly on the sidewalk, and then ran left, bellowing at everyone milling on the pavement to get out of his way. Most did—those who didn’t were brutally shoved aside. Luc and I followed, though I struggled to keep up with the two of them.
We went left around the next corner. Halfway down the street was one of those plastic yellow triangle barriers surrounding an open manhole cover.
Ricker came to such an abrupt halt that Luc had to jump sideways to avoid crashing into him. Thankfully, I was far enough back to slow down normally.
“Surely they wouldn’t be so—”
I cut the rest off as Ricker held up a hand. “Listen.”
For several heartbeats I couldn’t hear anything beyond the wail of the approaching emergency vehicles, the rumble of nearby traffic, and the screams of the frightened and confused.
I tuned it all out the best I could and eventually heard it—the soft echo of footsteps on metal. Someone was climbing up the sewer’s ladder.
“They’ll have to have transport waiting,” Ricker said softly, looking around. “They can’t walk through the streets stinking of sewage—it’d attract too much attention.”
Luc handed me Nex and Vita. “Ricker and I will h
andle the sewer rats. You head across the road and take out the car when it arrives.”
I waited for a gap in the traffic, and then darted across. Parked cars lined this side of the road, so I tucked in behind the largest—a Land Rover—and lightly gripped Nex’s hilt. A soft pulsing immediately started deep in her metal heart, and energy briefly caressed my fingers. She was ready—eager—for action. The gods had definitely given her a bloodthirsty edge.
There was no sign of the two men on the other side of the road; they were obviously wrapped in darkness. My gaze went to the manhole, but no one had come out as yet. I took a deep breath and flexed my free hand. It didn’t do a whole lot to ease the inner tension.
A few seconds later, a man in plastic-looking coveralls and knee-high wellies appeared. He climbed out of the manhole and casually looked around. I ducked behind the Land Rover, my heart pounding so fiercely it felt like a drum—and a loud one at that. When I looked back, the man in coveralls was studying the shadows haunting a doorway several buildings further down the street. Was that where Luc and Ricker stood? Did he suspect they were near? I had no idea and could only hope that he didn’t.
After another few seconds, he leaned down and said something, then pulled a phone out of a breast pocket and made a call. I flexed my fingers again. This was it.
I walked to the front of the Land Rover. It was out of the stranger’s direct line of sight, which meant there was less chance of him spotting me.
A black van appeared further down the street, and my pulse rate leapt. It was the same sort of van that had been involved in Reign’s attempted kidnapping.
Lightning flickered down Nex’s side, and her energy pulsed through me. Or maybe it was the other way around; it was hard to be certain, given the strengthening connection between me and these daggers.
The van crawled closer, its progress hampered by the evening traffic. I glanced back across the road; three men were now out of the manhole, but they were obviously waiting for others. None of them was our witch. Someone strong enough to bring down a building with such ease should radiate power. These three felt human, and that meant they were probably just guards.
