It was difficult for me to tell the age of mortals in this new London, but I guessed her young. Young, and alone. Scant few un-tainted humans swirled between the ghouls upon the dance floor. Each step I took, each glance I stole, ghouls met my gaze and stared. Their movements slowed, their human partners showing the first signs of confusion.
They did not know what I was, but some animal instinct deep within their slowed hearts warned them to fear me.
Garnet noticed the shift and pressed closer to me, his smooth hand curling around the hard edge of my waist as he tugged me against him. So close, the nightwalker scent oppressed my senses—dust and rot, stone ground to ruin by endless time. But I pushed my instincts down as he whispered, breath warm against my ear. The human girl would have found the whisper chilly, but I was the coldest thing in the room that night.
"They can't take their eyes off of you."
"A mouse is prone to the hypnotism of a snake."
He threw his head back and grinned to the flashing lights and artful glass, letting the faint points of baby fangs show beneath the high curl of his lip. Brian Garnet was further along than the rest. The taint ran strongly through his blood and, like me, he no longer sweated.
"We are all snakes, Magdalene." He peeled his hand from my hip, too impassioned by his own glory to maintain the contact. There was a time when the men I came across would rather have had their hand cut off than remove it from my body of their own volition. Perhaps the years in the oubliette had not been kind to me. I hadn't exactly checked.
Brian threw his arms out, drawing the rapt attention of all the ghouls, and raised his voice to be heard above the thumping of the music.
"The jailers of the dark are dead. Soon, the night will be ours for all eternity!"
Charming, I thought, then hardened my nails to claws and rammed them through his chest, cracking rib and tearing sinew as I grasped his poisoned, frantic heart and ripped it out.
Ah, blood. It'd been so long since I'd partaken that the sight of Brian's tainted sludge sent a flutter of desire through my stomach. That particular victual would have to wait. His head lolled back, jaw falling slack as he took a few gurgling breaths. The wet wheeze of air whistled in the open wound in his chest cavity. Blood dribbled from his lips, a nice theatrical touch, and he fell over backward, dead before he ever hit the ground.
The ghouls scrambled back from their leader's corpse, eyes wide with horror, but a few nostrils flaring at the rich, iron-laden scent on the air. To them, the heart in my hands was candy. They could no longer detect the foulness that turned my stomach.
A moment of stunned silence froze everyone in place. I tipped my head back, breathing deep of the fear-tinged air, and threw the heart straight up toward the rafters. Someone screamed—probably yellow boots—and then the real fun began.
They rushed me. My world slowed.
My claws lashed out, opening the throat of the nearest, while my other hand reached for the grip of my blade and whipped it free. Two feet of shining steel slowed the press, but not for long. Someone got the bright idea to tackle me from behind, my heightened senses alerting me to the move long before he was halfway committed.
I spun, bringing the blade across in a devastating arc that opened the man's guts to the floor. He folded over himself, collapsing. A nasty, slippery puddle spread around my feet, so I side-stepped into a classic thrust, dropping the next ghoul. The others, sorry sports that they were, decided that was the moment to flee.
Anger welled within me, burning with the fury of the sun, at the objects of my oath retreating. Three of the assholes scattered, taking off in opposite directions. A sound plan for survival, if I had been ghoul or mortal.
Whoever had failed to teach these nightwalker fledglings of sunstriders had done them a disservice. And me, a favor.
I shunted all my strength into my legs and leapt for the man clamoring up the stairs. I slammed into his back feet-first, rode him to the ground to break my fall, balancing across his shoulders as the bones in his ribcage cracked. He screamed once, a piercing howl, before I stepped clear and got my hand around the back of his neck, then flung him one-armed at the female ghoul racing for the front door. His body crashed into hers, and she hit the floor with a meaty crack, her skull giving up its contents to the ground.
One more.
I half-turned and spied my final mark scrambling over the top of the bar for cover. I snorted. As if hiding behind a plank of wood would make me forget he existed. Drawing my blade back like a spear, I sighted down its point and threw, catching the man between the shoulder blades. Centuries of penance had done nothing to dull my blade, or my aim. It struck true, pinning him to the bar countertop. He hung there for a second, reaching futilely for the blade in his chest, then his body gave over to death spasms and he drooped, limp.
Sighing, I pushed a hand through my hair to keep the loose wisps from my eyes, staining the locks with ghoul blood.
"Who are you?" a woman demanded.
The woman with the stake-shoes stood behind her table as if it were a fortress wall. Her whole body trembled, but she kept her arms crossed tight over her chest, her chin lifted in defiance. She would have made a fine warrior.
"I have told you. I did not lie."
Though she was mortal, I could sense a mantle of knowledge about her. She held herself like a woman used to holding the cards. A woman who'd just discovered the deck was bigger than she'd ever imagined.
"Your eyes aren't like his," she said, and though she said it half to herself my ears picked up every word. From the fear in her voice, she didn't mean the late Brian Garnet.
"Who? Whose eyes?" I took a step down, toward her, and she took a step away.
I froze, not wanting to push her into flight before I had my answers. Catching her would be no trouble, but my oath precluded interfering with untainted mortals if at all possible. We were meant to be the fine barrier between them and the darker night, unseen. Silent, steady, and always willing to defend mankind. I had done enough to traumatize her already. I would not press her, if she ran.
"You—" She began, then turned, eyes wide, as Sir Handsome stomped into the room. He took one look at the carnage and reached for a small, black device tucked into his waistband.
"What the fuck happened?"
"Her! Shoot her!" The woman thrust a finger my way.
Shit. He was definitely mortal, and I was pushing the edge of my waning energy reserves. I needed rest, sunlight, and blood. And I needed them fast. I held up my hands in what I hoped was a clear indication of meaning no harm, but he brought that black device up anyway and pointed it straight at me.
One ear-splitting crack later, a searing pain radiated from my midsection. Black blood oozed from the wound. I pressed my hand against it, and when I took my fingers away the blood was cold and sticky, congealing into a paste as my body worked to heal the damage. A gun. The smallest I'd ever seen. The bastard had shot me. I decided to make myself scarce before I had to defend myself. I really didn't want my first day awake to be tainted by the death of a mortal. That'd get me put right back to sleep.
Ignoring the pain, I leapt the rest of the way down the steps and covered the distance to the bar in three long strides. The gun cracked again, thundering in my skull, and I dropped to a knee as the bullet whizzed by, taking a chunk out of the wooden bar top. Maybe it was time to let the sword go.
The fleeing mortals had been an education in the building's exits. Keeping low, I sprinted across the blood-slippery dance floor, relying on natural strength to keep my balance. Unnatural speed could be a boon when trying to escape, but my powers were working double time to keep me from keeling over from exhaustion. It'd been too long since I'd demanded anything of my body, and getting holes punched in it didn't help.
I slammed the door shut behind me and staggered out into a narrow alley. I doubted Sir Handsome would work up the nerve to chase me down, so I took a moment to lean against the cold, damp stone of the wall and tipped my head back to g
lare at the moon. If it had been daylight, and I had been in my full strength, then I'd feel frisky as a newborn kitten. As it was, the angry moon sapped my strength, resenting the hunter of its children, and my body trembled from weakness as it set about repairing the damage.
I cupped my hand beneath the wound to catch the falling bullet and held it up to the light. The nub was silvery as the stars, some kind of steel or lead, I suspected, but it did not appear to be poisoned.
As the pain subsided, I caught the sound of whimpering somewhere down the alley. There was no stench of nightwalker on the air, so I paused a moment to peel the blood-soaked boots from my feet and then padded, barefoot, after the sound. No shoes, no sword, clothed in little more than the tatters of bloodstained stays and a black chemise. I didn't know what use I could be, aside from fueling a poor mortal's nightmares, but that sound lured me.
The source curled upon the damp ground beside a pile of shiny black bags. She gasped as my shadow fell over her and jerked, pressing her back against the wall as she drew her knees to her chest and ducked her head, hiding beneath long auburn hair. Ah, yellow boots.
"I am not your enemy," I said, extending a hand to her. She only sobbed harder.
I sighed, frustrated, and yanked on the bottom of my stays, which split the opening the bullet had caused wider. My clothes were diminishing at an alarming rate.
"My name is Magdalene Shelley. I am an immortal of the sunstrider order. My eternal oath is the protection of mankind from the onslaught of the nightwalkers, my ancient blood is bound to serve your well-being."
Her sobs rose into a wail. Sirens split the night, a piercing sound that I did not recognize, but told me I needed to get out of here all the same. There was something in their insistence that reminded me of the whistles of the watchers of old London.
"Mortal assistance is coming to your aid," I said, trying to make my voice reassuring. "I must leave, but you will be safe soon. May I ask a boon for my service?"
"Don't hurt me, please!" She wailed. "Take my wallet!" She uncurled, throwing a glittery pink rectangle at me. It bounced off my chest and fell to the dirty ground. "Please! My family has money!"
"I'm not here to rob or harm you. I just want to know which direction to the Thames."
She pointed, finger shaking. I nodded my thanks and left before she could throw other sparkling objects at me. Strange girl.
Four: Bullets and Bloodstains
Somerset House had changed in the intervening years, but age only enhanced her beauty. Sometime since my rest she had been set back, away from the river Thames, a sprawling garden standing between her beautiful face and those sluggish waters. Wings had been added, extensions made, and despite the late hour the grounds crawled with earnest young mortals toting packs of books.
I skirted the facade of the building, sticking to the shadows to keep from alarming the mortals out enjoying the fresh night air. The house had been a new headquarters for the Sun Guard when I went to my rest, and though the building had changed in many ways, I was certain my people would remain. Something about immortality makes one prone to habits.
A tension in the air drew me, a moth to a flame, to a door that mortals would pass by. A simple plane of stone, unadorned, set in a slight recess so that it was always in shadow. Water stains darkened the edges, long drips of mineral deposits almost as old as I was signaling to any random passerby that this door was uninteresting—nothing to see here. It helped, too, that the lock had been enchanted long ago to only allow sunstriders, and those mortals who held special keys, to pass.
I shaped my claw into the key, dreading the loss of that last trickle of power. It was good to be home, for so very many reasons, but the keenest was that, if I were to be attacked in this moment, I would be all but useless. False light lit the small entryway and a split set of stone stairs. One led down into the maze of catacombs, where I should have been entombed, the other up to Sun Guard operations. I scented mortals up those stairs, so I took them as quickly as my tired legs would allow, leaving bloody footprints behind.
Murmurs of chatter drew me to a door. A young man with a tousled mop of light brown hair sat with his back to me, facing a glowing box covered with text. A woman so slender I thought she must be a child at first sat alongside him, a similar box in front of her, though hers appeared to have a variety of maps on display. Both leaned forward, the bluish glow casting a sickly pallor over their faces. From boxes on the desk, a faint strain of music similar to that I'd heard at Club Garnet issued. Neither one of them looked up. I cleared my throat.
"Christ," the man said, flinching. "I've told you to knock a million times." He spun his chair around to face me. His jaw dropped.
"Oh. Oh holy shit. Talia! Talia!" He grabbed the woman's shoulder and shook her. She scowled and pulled tiny plugs from her ears.
"What? I'm busy."
"Fucking look, woman." He spun her chair around and she swore, then let out a little shriek as she saw me.
"Ohmigod," she said, "it's one of them!"
"You are the Sun Guard?" These two didn't seem prepared to see a rat in the dark, let alone direct an eternal war.
"We, uh, were hired through a work-study program. But. Yes?" I frowned at the man, and he winced. "I'm sorry," he blurted and scrambled to his feet. "It's just that we never expected to meet one of you. I..." He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced down. "I thought it was a joke. Like a hazing, you know?"
"I do not."
He shook himself and stood straighter, extending his hand to me. "Never mind. I'm an ass. My name's Seamus Canavan, I run IT around here."
I stepped into the light to grip his hand, and the young man's face turned ash-pale. Oh, right, I was covered in blood. Our palms squished together and stuck a moment as we separated them. He cleared his throat. "Are you injured?"
"Very little of this is mine," I explained. Talia had been struck mute, frozen in place, her eyes wider than any I'd ever seen. "Is your friend all right?"
He glanced back at Talia, grimaced, and pulled the woman to her feet. "Could you, uh, go find a Durfort-Civrac?"
A wave of relief rushed through me. "The Durfort-Civrac family is still in control?"
Talia snorted. "Lady Adelia never lets us forget. I'll be right back." She half bowed, half curtsied, offered an embarrassed shrug, then bolted for the door.
With Talia gone, Seamus gave me a long, cataloging glance. "Are you sure you're all right? I'm probably not supposed to say this to a woman, but, you... You don't look well." He gestured to the tear in my stays. I nudged the fabric aside for a better view. The skin was puckered and angry red, but it had more or less healed. I handed him the stubby piece of the bullet that had pierced me. He took it and winced.
"You were shot. Usually, that's pretty serious." He peered at me as if I might dissolve into ash at any moment.
"That thing came from the smallest gun I've ever seen."
"Oh, right, you're not current. Modern weapons can do serious damage, so it's best to be careful with them. I mean, I don't know just how much damage you can take, but, well... Just try to avoid getting shot, right? I'd hate for you to die after we just met."
"I will avoid being shot in the future."
Seamus glanced at the closed door. "Sorry about Talia. Like I said, we've never met any of your kind before."
"But you should have," I insisted. "There are nightwalker ghouls all over the streets of London. Where are my people? Why are they not controlling the nightwalker population? What have you been doing here, while the balance fell so far off scale that I was dragged from my oubliette?"
"I'm... not authorized to answer those questions, Miss, uh, I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"
The door opened, and a tall, older woman in a slim-cut charcoal suit stepped into the room. I had never met her before in my life, but her bloodline was familiar to me. Her family had been running the affairs of the Sun Guard since before the time of my maker.
She took one look at me and said, "
Magdalene Shelley."
"Lady Adelia." I knelt before her, though I did not bow my head. She eyed me a moment, then snapped her fingers.
"Will one of you slack-jawed wastrels fetch a warm washcloth for Miss Shelley?"
Talia let out a squeak and scampered off.
I stood, too impatient for regular civilities. "Lady, what is happening here? Why did I awaken early? Where are my fellow sunstriders?"
She held out a forestalling hand. "Please, call me Adelia. And I'm afraid I'm as perplexed as you. Your oubliette was not due to end for another one hundred and ten years."
"It is 2020, then?"
"It is. There is a great deal to catch you up on. I'm afraid things started moving a little quickly around the twentieth century. Seamus, I'm sure, will be happy to fill you in on what you need to know."
He swallowed, but nodded. "Of course. When did you go to sleep?"
"1830."
"Oh. Wow. That's, um, quite a lot..."
I turned to Adelia. "Are all of your staff this unprepared?"
"Honestly, my dear..." She pulled horn-rimmed glasses from her eyes and peered into them, as if seeking a scratch. "I'm afraid so. Technology is not the only thing we must catch you up on. There has been a significant change in the powers of eternity."
Whatever she meant by that, I didn't like it. I'd seen the change on the streets with my own eyes. Ghouls luring mortals into their den, reveling in their superiority, unchecked by my order.
Talia scurried back with a large, white washcloth clutched between both hands. She offered it to me as if she were presenting a crown to a king. I snatched it from her, unable to hide my annoyance with the order's disarray, then wiped my hands and pitched it to the ground with a soft growl. I was too tired to bear these frustrations with good grace.
Sun Cursed (Shades of Blood Book 1) Page 2
