Quickly shifting form into a wolf—a large beast with pure white hair—she dodged around both me and the monster, jumping onto the table and snatching the map in her maw. She raced from the room. The monster Master Qiang controlled blasted around the room in a torrent of light and cold. The monster grabbed the werewolf before me and devoured it. The werewolf was sucked into the vortex of light and simply disappeared. The creature then turned toward the Lolita.
Shaking myself from the sight, I turned and raced after Alodie.
Just as I reached the exit, the pipe on the ceiling over me finally cracked. A cascade of ice-cold water showered all over me, drenching me in near-freezing water. I gasped. Shaken for a moment, I rushed out onto the street. I arrived just in time to see the auto turn the corner at the end of the block. Alodie was gone.
Chapter 3: Wherefore Art Thou, Lionheart?
Promising to give me an update on what he learned from the shaman, Agent Keung headed back across town with Master Qiang and his granddaughter. The little girl had enough for one night. I didn’t want to delay in getting her home and safe. With the pair safely bestowed with Agent Keung, I headed in the direction of Temple Square. Things were getting out of hand. I could only guess who Alodie was hunting. Maybe Lionheart knew something I didn’t. And even if he didn’t know, he needed to leave whatever library he was hunkered down in and get to work keeping things in order.
I worked my way down the Strand to the entrance of Temple Square. By the time I reached the square, I was mostly dry once again. Dry, but cold. Part of me entertained the idea that maybe Lionheart would invite me in for a hot toddy. But I also reminded myself that I was now spoken for. I had no business going anywhere with Lionheart unless it was to arrest someone.
Two Templar wolves were standing guard at the gate, which was kept closed these days. The heightened security on the square had become a common fixture these last few months. The wolves moved to meet me.
“Good evening, Agent Louvel,” one of them said.
“I’m here to see Lionheart.”
“The alpha doesn’t wish to be disturbed right now,” the wolf replied stiffly.
“I’m sure he doesn’t. Neither do I, but I’m disturbed all the same. Realm issues, of course. I hate to be a nuisance, but it is rather important. Perhaps someone can check if he has a moment for me.”
The wolf looked to his companion who nodded. Without another word, the Templar pack member turned and headed back into the square. My eyes trailed him as he went. To my surprise, he headed into the cathedral.
I turned to the guard. “I don’t think we’ve met. You are Sir…”
“Nash.”
“Sir Nash,” I said with a nod. “I’m Clemeny.”
“I know who you are, Agent Louvel,” he said stiffly.
While Lionheart and I had always gotten along, the other pack members had clearly not warmed up to me. But then again, maybe I wasn’t the problem. The Templars had never had an alpha, had never led the packs. In fact, for the most part, they functioned independently of the werewolves in the realm, minding their own tasks. The mess with Cyril had all but halted their daily lives, a routine they had followed for decades. But they could hardly blame me. It was Victoria who’d done the asking; I was just the messenger.
I heard the cathedral door open. A moment later, two figures crossed the square toward me once more. The guard was returning and with him…wasn’t Lionheart.
Instead, the beta of the Templar pack, Sir Blackwood, approached.
He motioned to the other wolves who left.
“Agent Louvel,” he said, inclining his head to me. Sir Harlan Blackwood was tall, dark-haired, and essentially humorless. I had dealt with him on just a few occasions. He was a man—well, werewolf—of few words. Unlike many of the other Templars who found work at King’s College, Sir Blackwood still had some dealings with Rome about which I knew almost nothing. But Lionheart trusted him. So, despite my own misgivings, so did I—kind of.
“Good evening, Sir Blackwood. I was hoping to speak to Lionheart.”
He nodded. Once. “He’s not available.”
“Very well. Can you relay a message?”
Again, one nod.
“Talkative, aren’t you, Sir Blackwood?”
The comment, at least, earned me a slight smile. Not a bad sight on his square and rugged jaw.
“Lolitas are involved in something. Some of Cyril and Fenton’s old dogs are back and working with her. She lifted a shaman from Limewood, used him to help her track someone in the Americas. I do believe she’s up to no good.”
“Then it’s a good thing we have the Red Capes to protect the realm. I will relay your message. Goodnight, Agent Louvel.”
“Sir Blackwood,” I said with a nod.
I cast a glance behind me as I left, reaching out with my sixth sense, feeling for Lionheart. The palms of my hand prickled. He was there. Why hadn’t he come?
“Sir Blackwood,” I called to the knight, who was headed back toward the chapel.
He stopped and looked back at me, his eyes flashing red in the darkness.
“Yes?”
“Is Sir Richard well?”
Again—infuriatingly—he nodded. Once.
Frustration boiled up in me, but I kept a lid on it. “Please send him my regards,” I said then turned and left.
All right, Lionheart. What’s going on? He was there, but he was…ignoring me? Indisposed? Sick? I didn’t know what, but an unsettled alpha is an unsettled realm, the last thing I needed when a bitch was about to stir up some trouble.
Chapter 4: A Rose is a Rose is a Rose
It was nearly five in the morning when I left Temple Square. It was far too early to stop by Grand-mère’s flat. Of course, she wouldn’t complain about me waking her—much—but I couldn’t help but notice that she was slower to rise each morning as the years progressed. No, I still had work to do. Since Lionheart was going to be of no help whatsoever, I headed instead to headquarters.
First, I needed to pull up our records on the American werewolf population. I knew a little about the key players, but the American werewolves rarely jumped the pond. As it was, they were too busy terrorizing New York City to be bothered with London. Then again, Alodie wasn’t interested in New York. That map had shown a symbol somewhere in the west, New Mexico or Arizona. At least, that’s where the strange blue line had started. It had moved across the page, crossing the Atlantic. I frowned. What in the hell was Alodie tracking? I would begin making inquiries with my counterparts in the United States at the Federal Bureau of Supernatural Affairs. Maybe they knew something. And second, I needed to track Alodie. While Victoria had let the Lolitas stay after the purge, Lionheart had closed Alodie’s brothel. She’d gone to ground since. Now she had some plans in the works. I needed to find out what those plans were.
I took a tram back to headquarters, the car lurching to a stop when I arrived, my stomach shaking along with it. Taking the lift, I headed upstairs. It was so quiet that I could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. The globes on the lamps hanging from above cast a warm, orange glow around the room. Only one other desk lamp was lit, but otherwise the workroom was empty.
I headed to the records room. During regular working hours, someone would be here to assist me with finding files. But this was the graveyard shift. The room was lined from floor to ceiling with drawers. Luckily, I knew my own department’s records like my own name. As I pulled open a drawer, which seemed to extend at least three feet into the wall, I sent a silent blessing to Quinn and his old partner, Agent Jamison, for keeping everything in order. My fingers danced across the files until I reached the section on the American werewolf packs.
Snapping open the file, I pulled off my eyepatch and slipped it into my pocket. I was wearing it less and less these days. I was getting used to my new face, and in truth, I could see much better without the eyepatch. My mooneye had its own way of seeing, which wasn’t without benefits.
I flipped thro
ugh the papers, searching for any connection. There was nothing current. Some wolves had left Britain and gone to the colonies early on. They’d tangled with the native preternaturals but had eventually blended in. There were no links back to the London packs that I could find. But still, something nagged on my mind. There was a connection there, but I couldn’t quite remember.
“At work already?” a masculine voice asked from behind me.
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. Cinnamon.
“Can’t slouch on the job. Might upset my boss,” I said.
Edwin took me by the waist and gently turned me toward him. I glanced up at him, the butterflies in my stomach doing an embarrassing amount of acrobatics. Edwin reached up and stroked my cheek, his finger gently caressing the scar below my eye.
“And just what are you searching for at this ungodly hour?” he asked.
“Bad people doing bad things.”
“Indeed?”
Shut up and kiss me. Shut up and kiss me. “Wild West style, I think.”
“That’s new.”
“So it is. And what are you doing awake at this ungodly hour?”
He took his hand from my cheek to show me the tape thereon. “I was at the Society gymnasium beating inanimate objects.”
“Feel better?”
“Much.”
“And what brought you here?” I asked.
He grinned. “A hunch.”
“Always with the hunches.”
“They serve me well.”
“Any hunches about anything else right now?” I asked, giving him a sly grin as I set my hand gently on his arm.
“Why, Agent Louvel, I do believe you’re flirting with me.”
“Then my skills must be improving. At least you can tell.”
At that, he chuckled lightly then leaned in to set a kiss on my lips, but no sooner had our lips touched, there was a loud clatter from somewhere down the hall. Edwin pulled back. He raised an eyebrow at me.
I set the file aside, pulled my gun, then followed the noise. Stepping quietly, Edwin and I made our way down the dark hall. As we did so, I spotted lamplight coming from the armory.
Metal clattered again, and this time, I heard a feminine voice cursing like a drunken sailor.
My pistol in front of me, I turned and stepped into the room.
Looking down the barrel of my pistol, I found myself face to face with a blood-spattered Agent Rose who was staring down the barrel of her own weapon at me.
“Clemeny,” she said, heaving a sigh of relief. “I almost shot you.”
“Same,” I replied.
Agent Rose cast a glance at Agent Hunter. A flicker of surprise and then amusement crossed her face. “Sir, I didn’t expect to find you here at this hour,” she said, giving me a passing glance. She smirked.
“I had some work to do,” Edwin replied. “Agent Rose, are you hurt?”
She looked down at her clothes. “No. That’s not my blood. But I was about to go murder a whole nest of vampires. I’ll be sure to complete my paperwork afterward,” she told Agent Hunter with a wink. Then she turned to me. “Want to come? I could use an extra hand.”
Like me, Agent Rose was still without a partner. I really didn’t know much about her beat. Most of the agents who worked with vampires stayed out in the field. And Agent Rose had a tendency to do things the way she wanted, when she wanted, where she wanted, an attitude which had annoyed Agent Greystock—and now Agent Hunter. I was dead tired and had a ton of work to do, but my curiosity was piqued.
“I take it my silver bullets won’t work,” I said.
“They will sting a bit but not kill. But these will,” she said, bending to pick a metal box up off the ground. She opened it and handed two daggers to me, both had metal handles, the blades made out of wood.
I glanced at Edwin who was unable to hide the worry that crossed his features.
“Agent Hunter, while I’m out, would you please assign some junior agents to do surveillance at the airship towers. I need eyes on the lookout for Alodie,” I said.
“Alodie?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Unfortunately. I believe that bitch is about to blow up the realm, so to speak. I need to make sure she doesn’t leave the country. If anyone spots her, have them arrest her and bring her in for questioning.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you,” I told him, reaching out to brush his hand with the tips of my fingers.
He inclined his head to me. I could see in his eyes that he wanted to say something, do something, but our relationship was still a secret. Edwin wasn’t sure how the others would take the news that we were attached. It would come out into the open sooner or later, and we would deal with it then. Then, but not yet.
I turned back to Agent Rose. “Lead the way.”
Agent Rose pulled another two daggers from the box, shoved them into her belt, then grabbed a vial which she stuffed into her satchel.
“Sir,” she said, inclining her head to Agent Hunter. She made her way out of the room.
I smiled softly at Edwin.
He pointed at the daggers in my hand. “Right in the heart. And…be careful.”
Nodding to him, I slipped Agent Rose’s daggers into my belt and headed out behind her. I was about to go fight a monster with which I had no experience while working with an agent who was known for being a smidgen reckless. What could go wrong?
I cast a glance back over my shoulder toward the armory. Edwin stood in doorway watching us go. Well, at the very least, someone cared if I lived or died. A warm feeling filled my chest, and I suppressed the schoolgirlish sigh that wanted to escape my lips. No time for that, Clemeny. Because if my hunch was right, things were about to get messy.
Chapter 5: A Rose by Any Other Name
Agent Rose and I took the lift to the upper floor of headquarters which looked to the untrained eye like any random townhouse on any random street in one of the sleepiest districts of London. The lift from our underground headquarters to the townhouse was disguised as a broom cupboard. Slipping between the pails and mops, Agent Rose and I exited the closet into a foyer between the kitchen and the parlor of the townhouse.
The sound of the closet door opening summoned a maid, who was actually a trained agent, from the kitchen.
“Ah, Agents Rose and Louvel. Breakfast before you head out, Agents?” Annabeth, the house agent, asked. “I have tea on.”
“No, thank you,” Agent Rose answered for both of us.
My stomach, which growled hungrily at the mere thought of food, was inclined to disagree, but Agent Rose seemed like she was in a hurry.
“Very well. Perhaps a handkerchief, Agent Rose?” Annabeth said, offering a pretty, lace-trimmed handkerchief to Agent Rose.
She smirked then took the dainty handkerchief.
I tapped on my cheek to indicate where she had the splatter. As she wiped it off, I eyed her over. Agent Rose was, in fact, very attractive. With pale blonde hair, blue eyes, and very red lips, her looks were more fitting for the social set. But there was a stony hardness behind her gaze which I knew well. Something was motivating her. There was a reason she was at the agency and not sitting around playing the pianoforte all day. I knew that sharp edge because it was a mirror of my own. The flavor was, perhaps, a bit different. But it was there all the same.
She wiped the blood off—the droplets leaving a faint echo of stain on her pale cheeks—then handed the cloth back to the maid.
“Thanks,” she said then turned and headed to the front door.
Pausing a minute, I turned to the maid. “Scones?” I whispered.
She nodded. “Blueberry.”
Dammit. I cringed.
“I’ll save you one, Agent Louvel.”
“Thanks,” I said then turned and went after Agent Rose who was waiting for me at the door.
“Best not to eat until after,” Agent Rose told me.
We headed outside where Agent Rose had a steamauto waiting.
; “Agents,” Thomas, the other another residential agent playing servant, said as we emerged. Dressed like an ordinary servant, save the pistols at his side and in his boot, he was lighting the lamp outside the townhouse.
“Good morning, Thomas,” I said.
“Louvel and Rose together. God help them,” he said with a chuckle.
“It’s not God they need to worry about,” Agent Rose said with a laugh as we headed toward the auto.
I slipped into the passenger seat, strapping myself in and keeping my opinion about the infernal machine to myself. Rose adjusted a few levers, the engine boiling and hissing, then set off across town.
“So, who are we smiting?” I asked.
“A month back, Lady Caroline Graham made a visit to Bath, her niece Penelope along with her. Penelope was enamored by some traveling entertainers that passed through. She frequented the show. Unfortunately, when the cirque left, so did Penelope.”
“And I take it our entertainers have rather extraordinary talents.”
“They do, and they’re a damned menace. I tracked them back to London. They’ve rented an old theater. I was waiting for the sun before I went to have a look. We need to see if Penelope is still amongst the living. And if not, kindly murder her. Otherwise, we’ll ship the performers back to Europe where they came from or smite them, whichever comes first.
“Sounds like a plan.”
We headed across town to an area well known for live entertainment, from opera to burlesque. The group Agent Rose described would certainly blend in well here, except for the fact that they’re all undead. She pulled her auto to a stop not far from the old theater. The boiler hissed.
Agent Rose eyed the sky. Soft shades of orange and pink lit up the horizon.
“How many?” I asked.
“Seven, unless Penelope is turned, which would make eight. At least four are very old.”
“I take it the older, the stronger?”
She nodded.
Bitches and Brawlers Page 2
