Sun Cursed (Shades of Blood Book 1)

by Megan Blackwood

  Two of DeShawn's people kept watch over the back of the building, a loading bay half shuttered with a bored man and a woman having a smoke just outside. They wore the thick trousers and rolled-up sleeves of warehouse workers, but the slight bulge of holsters was clear to my eye under the fold of their shirts.

  Empty wall stretched from the door all the way up to the roof, pocked with only a few windows here and there. Four stories was nothing to me.

  Cloaked in my mirage, I approached the two guards from the side, careful to place my steps so that they didn't crunch the gravel or disturb any of the trash littering the ground.

  "Any idea what this is all about?" the man asked, taking a drag on a clove cigarette. The woman shrugged.

  "We're not supposed to ask when it's Inspector Culver, you know. Just follow orders."

  "Inspector?" He snorted and flicked ash. "More like agent. We're into some black ops shit here, and you're not worried?"

  "He said watch the door, I watch the door. The rest is rumor and bullshit."

  "Don't act like you're not a little curious."

  "Don't have to act, I'm just doing my job. You should try it some time."

  "Hey..."

  I knew the tone of that bickering—these two didn't have a clue what was going on. That rankled me. DeShawn shouldn't bring mortals into this fight without making sure they understood the risks. This was no normal bust, no normal stakeout. Based on the location, most of the humans toting guns in DeShawn's name probably thought they were on some sort of drug bust or smuggling ring break-up. They'd never know what hit them come the night, when the nightwalkers came out to meet them. And they would. I couldn't see Ragnar letting them be.

  Keeping the daylight tight around my shoulders, I sprung upward an easy ten feet, digging my claws into the thin plaster facade of the building and pressing my toes against the wall. Bits of plaster rained down on the pair. I froze, holding tight to my illusion.

  "What the hell?" The man brushed dust from his shoulder and glared up at me.

  "You need a better anti-dandruff shampoo."

  "Shove it, Reynolds, this crap came off this piece-of-shit building."

  She craned her neck and squinted at me. I held perfectly still. After a long moment, she snorted smoke out of her nose. "Whole thing's like to come down with us in it."

  They went back to their conversation, and I sprung away, up the building face, outdistancing the sound of their voices. Avoiding all the windows, I swung myself up over the lip of the roof and onto its tarry surface. Although the London sunlight was mild, heat had baked into the roof, making each step I took across squeak slightly. I rolled to my toes, relying on my supernatural grace, and became silent.

  At the other side of the roof, DeShawn hunkered against the railing. He'd set up a blind, small pile of scrap wood angled to keep him out of view of anyone on the street, or watching from the hive across the lane. He sat on a small pallet, his coat wrapped tight around his shoulders despite the sun. A long rifle rested on a tripod next to him, and he had an eyeglass pressed to one eye.

  A pigeon pecking at the pile of wood fluttered away as I approached, cooing in admonishment. DeShawn's head jerked up and he set the glass down, peering at the roof around him. His gaze flicked over me once. Twice. Then he shook his head.

  "That you, Mags?"

  I let the illusion drop. "We need to talk."

  "We've talked." He turned back to his slow survey, but let the spyglass dangle between his fingers.

  "Your people don't know what you're here for."

  He snorted. "What would you have me tell them? Vampires are real, and the bad ones are kidnapping the good ones, and we have to stop them before they eat the whole city?"

  "Yes. But maybe not like that."

  "Fine, girl." He waved a hand. "You tell them."

  "If you insist," I said, and half-turned toward the edge of the roof.

  "Wait! Christ, don't actually do that." He pressed his hand against the crucifix that hung beneath his shirt. "You really are clueless, aren't you?"

  That rankled me, but I'd come here to make peace and bring him to reason, not to pick fights, so I sat cross-legged in front of him and tried to look attentive.

  "I've been asleep a long time, inspector. Why don't you tell me?"

  He put the spyglass back to his eye and looked across the street, scowling. "There used to be more of me, you know. A whole department set aside to deal with you monsters. When I first got hired on, I thought it was scut work. Bullshit the higher ups came up with to punish the newbies they didn't much like the look of. I tried to kick off the detail when I got assigned to it.

  "I wanted to work murders, you know. Find justice for the dead. But instead I got stuck liaising between my bosses and Adelia. She knew I hated it, but was always patient with me. I thought the whole thing was nonsense paranoia. As my older colleagues retired out, or died, or just plain quit, we got smaller and smaller until there was only me, pushing papers up the chain. Making reports on the unexplained, never much thinking there was anything more to it than drugs and fairy tales.

  "I wanted out. Asked a hundred times for a transfer, for them to let the department die, but they always said I was essential. Got a lot of pay raises for my complaining." He shook his head, coughing out a laugh.

  "Anyway. The rest of the department only has a vague idea of what I do, and that's by design. We're secretive, and I can requisition anything I want, no questions asked. That kind of power can piss off your co-workers after a while, you know? They started to call me a ghost. Then a spook." He winced. "Not a comfortable thing for a black man to be called. They don't like me. Think I'm cracked in the head with all this supernatural shit. But once the ghouls started showing up, and Adelia told me she suspected a nightwalker had resurfaced, I started to get a feel for what was really at stake. That maybe it wasn't all stories.

  "Then I met you. And you showed me."

  "There's more than vampires in this world, inspector."

  His smile was small, tight. "The Accord. Yeah. So you've told me. But girl, I've seen you work and—no offense—but what you do? It's not right. Ripping throats out. Wading in blood." He shivered. "I trust your intentions are right. I do. But this is humanity's fate you're playing with, and if we humans are fighting for our lives, then we've got to be the ones to stand up and fight. We can't sit back and pit one monster against the other, and wait to see who comes out on top."

  The heat pressed down on my shoulders. "You think I'm a monster."

  He collapsed the eyeglass and looked at me, letting his gaze linger on the tips of my extended claws. "I've seen you in action. I gave you a shot to get this under control. You failed. Now it's time for humanity to take charge. We're going in surgical, Mags. No bloodbath. No bier two stories high at the end to burn."

  "You will lose some people."

  "Yeah. But you'd lose more."

  He turned away from me, the eyeglass dangling between his fingers. He was done talking. Done talking to the monster, anyway. I stood, feeling the sun on my shoulders like a weight. My tongue felt dry in my mouth, my muscles stiff. He was right. He'd given me a shot, and I'd failed. And I and my brethren would be his next target after the nightwalkers had been dealt with.

  But he'd underestimated his enemy. There was nothing but death waiting for him beyond those doors.

  "Inspector?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Good luck."

  He paused. "You too, Mags. You too."

  Forty: Silence and Scones

  Maeve and the others sat hunkered around a round table covered in doilies, clutching teacups like shields between themselves and the aggressive hospitality of our host. The old woman thrust an overburdened plate of cheese scones at them, each one perfectly formed and thick with chives and caramelized hints of sharp cheddar. I may not need mortal food anymore, but even my stomach rumbled at the sight of them.

  "These are amazing," Seamus said between crumbling mouthfuls. The woman shot him a
look and he blanched, reaching to hide his mouth with a napkin. "Shorry."

  "Swallow first, lad," she said, then caught sight of me standing in the doorway. "You're late."

  I bowed my head to her. "My apologies. But I need to speak with my companions."

  She narrowed her eyes at me, shoved a scone into my hand, then trundled out of the room with a huff. I held the scone up to my nose and sniffed. My stomach rumbled again, a sense of loss rising in me as a few crumbs fell off the side to the floor. Tentatively, I took a bite. The others stared at me.

  "What?" I asked.

  Talia and Seamus exchanged an embarrassed glance. Talia said, "Just, uh, didn't know you could do... solids. We were wondering, uh, how that... works?"

  I raised my brows at the group. "None of your business. Seamus, have you set up the cameras? We need to move now."

  Emeline pushed her teacup away. "DeShawn would not see reason?"

  "No. We must move before he does."

  Maeve stood, fluttering her hands at me. "I am not yet ready to awaken your kin."

  "Then I'll go in alone. There's no time."

  "Alone?" Seamus's chair scraped against the floorboards as he stood. "That's madness."

  "That's necessity." I lowered my voice in case our host was lingering nearby. "If we don't move before DeShawn, his whole squadron won't stand a chance. I'm not charging in the front door. I'll be careful, quick, and quiet. Once I've freed Roisin, we deal with Ragnar. He'll be weak during the daylight."

  "But the Venefica won't be," Maeve said.

  "She has to rest at some point. She burned through a lot of power at the estate, and I doubt they're expecting us so soon."

  "I'm going in with you," Maeve announced.

  "Not a chance."

  "Actually," Emeline said, "that's a good idea. Her magic will be useful to you."

  "And Roisin is my family. I went along with her plan because I had every intention of getting her back as quickly as possible. You leave me behind, I'll go team up with your man down the street." The little witch stared me down, crumbs stuck to her bottom lip.

  "Fine. But you do exactly as I say, is that clear? And take some of that damn jewelry off, you sound like a tinker's cart walking down the street."

  She flicked a wrist, and the scent of magic fizzled in the air, then she jumped up and down, shaking her torso like she was trying to shake off a swarm of bees. Her jewelry swung wildly from around her neck, but not a sound emerged.

  "Silence is not a problem."

  She expected me to be angry, but a startled laugh escaped me. "All right. All right. You extend that to me, and we'll be in and out before the Venefica knows we came at all."

  The corners of her lips twitched. "Sound is not the only thing that will give us away. It's the least of our worries. Those wards on the windows and doors will be easy enough for me to take down, but the Venefica will know the second they're disabled. We cannot enter unannounced."

  I cocked my head to the side and grinned. "How do you feel about heights?"

  Forty-One: Death From Above

  Seamus kitted us out in everything he had, a veritable Pandora's box spilling from his worn duffel bag. Maeve's loose layers of cardigans and wide-sleeved shirts had been corralled into nylon straps holding the fabric in place, her various pouches of supplies forced into some semblance of organization. Seamus had even made her pull her hair back into a tight bun, the mountain of it piled so high that the weight tipped her head back.

  "Last chance to take to the sidelines," I said.

  Maeve shot me a sour look. "Last chance for you, you mean."

  We stood in a shadow around the back of Ragnar's hive, our presence obscured by Maeve's magic. She had claimed it was a small thing for her to wrap us in shadows, and that I should save my strength, but skulking up to a building in the dark just wasn't my style. It made my skin itch for the sunlight.

  "Ready?" Seamus's voice crackled in my ear.

  "We are. How does the path look?"

  On the second floor of the hostel, Seamus peered at a screen being fed images from a half dozen cameras he'd placed with the use of flying mechanical insects he'd called drones. The path I wanted to take was not a straight shot to the roof as it had been at DeShawn's warehouse—eaves and terraces interrupted my path—and so I'd rely on Seamus's aerial eyes. After we were in, we'd be on our own.

  "Clear," he said.

  Now or never. I dropped to a crouch, holding my arms out while, grumbling, Maeve clung to me piggy-back style. She could keep us hidden and silent, but she couldn't throw herself into the air like I could. And there was only one way into this hive that wouldn't result in ringing all the alarm bells: up.

  The second her arms cinched around my waist I launched upward. She gasped, air hissing through her teeth, and her grip tightened, but she kept herself from shouting. I smiled. Nerves of steel ran in the Quinn family.

  In one bound my claws found the lip of a balcony edge and I vaulted us over, landing in a crouch. A thin stream of light escaped under the grey painted door in front of me, the shadow of feet crossing by. I held my breath, waiting, but no alarm sounded.

  "Second stage clear," Seamus said.

  I leapt, spearing the thin plaster exterior with my claws for extra purchase, and trusting to Maeve's magic to keep the sound concealed. Lucky us, we hit the roof of the warehouse in deep shadow. I dropped to my knees to keep Maeve's head from being visible over the lip of the roof and helped her to disentangle herself from me.

  "I don't smell anyone."

  She nodded, pressing her palms flat to the roof. "Nor do I sense anyone. Or see them, for that matter."

  Seamus's technology had said the sun would set at 7:51 p.m., leaving us two hours to infiltrate the hive. Assassinate Ragnar, collect the imprisoned sunstriders, and get out. A tall order, and it would have been wise to wait for morning, but already I could sense DeShawn moving his people into position across the street. The arrogant man was preparing to move under the cover of night, when Ragnar would be at his most powerful.

  London fog clung to the rooftop, making everything sticky with moisture. I wanted to tear my way through the roof, tunnel straight down to Roisin and rip her free of this horrid place. Though we were alone, the air stank of nightwalker, thick and cloying now that we were so close.

  "Vent to the right, ten paces. Pop the grate and it should drop you into a maintenance closet." Seamus said in my ear.

  No more thinking. Time to move. Keeping to a crouch, I scuttled toward the vent and ran my claws around its edges, prying the thin aluminum loose with ease. Darkness filled the space below, easy enough for my eyes to pierce. The space was filled with stale air and dust. Ragnar hadn't exactly bothered to keep up with house maintenance.

  I took Maeve's hand and lowered her down first, easing her to a soft landing. As I let go, a glint caught my eye, winking across the street. I craned my neck to see—the flicker of a sniper's scope. DeShawn watching me. Maybe even saying hello. I waved at him with my clawed fingers, then dropped into the space alongside Maeve.

  "DeShawn knows we're in," I whispered to her. She pursed her lips.

  "We'd better hurry up, then."

  I nodded and edged to the door, nudging it open slowly to keep the hinges from squeaking. Fluorescent light flickered in a long hallway, a sickly yellow imitation of the sun. No one was about, and judging by the dust piled against the corners of the walls, people rarely came this way.

  "Clear," I whispered. It was whispers from here on out.

  She nodded and dropped to a squat, emptying one of the bags strapped to her waist onto the dusty floor. A dozen miniature versions of Seamus's drones spilled out, silvery domes with propellers no wider than my palm. Maeve ran a hand over them, muttering under her breath, and the pull of magic prickled against my skin. When their motors kicked on, they were silent.

  "Groups of three," Maeve said over the earpiece. "That's all I can guarantee."

  "Got it." Seamus said.
/>   The baby drones fluttered to life, lifting awkwardly off the ground like caterpillars emerging from their cocoons and trying out their wings for the first time. They drifted, staying low to the ground, out into the hall and split into four groups, zipping off down the hallway in utter silence.

  "Hold," Seamus said.

  Didn't have to tell me twice. I may not have been keen on the direction guns had taken over the years, but I could see the use of these contraptions. And the watch strapped to my wrist, counting down the seconds until sundown. Until the hive awakened. Their stench pulled at me, yanked on me like a chain. My oath screamed in my blood, urging me to rush ahead—to destroy what hid within these walls. First, Roisin and the sunstriders. Then Ragnar. Then the rest. The mantra of my mission ran through me, repeated over and over, so that the oath would not drive me into a bloodrage.

  "Left."

  Seamus's voice guided me like a holy writ, a command bonded as firmly to my blood as my oath. The stench of the nightwalker I could put aside, just so long as I had his voice—connected to those dozen eyes—to guide me.

  Didn't mean the experience was pleasant, though.

  The hallway grew rank with the nightwalker stench, mingling with the copper tang of old blood and the putrid sweetness of human rot. I exchanged a glance with Maeve, who raised her eyebrows in question. All I could do was shrug. This was a nightwalker hive. Who knew what horrors had been wrought here?

  The path sloped downward, the grit of dust and dirt beneath my boots thinning as the way grew more regularly used. I trailed my fingertips along the wall, feeling the subtle vibrations of the building's rudimentary ventilation system. Nightwalkers didn't have a need for fresh air. Either Ragnar had grown soft, or he was keeping ghouls. Only one option seemed plausible.

  "Wait," Seamus's voice sounded strained. "Something's going on with the cameras. They're—" White noise crackled in my ear, followed by a loud squeal, then silence.

  "Seamus?" I asked softly, and waited. And waited.