The Human Herders (Daemons of London - Book 2)

by Michaela Haze

  Henry rubbed his chin with his free hand as we continued walking. When we came to a group of tourists outside of Camden Town station, he stepped aside to let me walk through first.

  “It’s a game.” He said as sadness tinged his deep blue eyes. “It’s a much heartier chase if the prey thinks that it has a chance.”

  “Did you used to play games like this?” I wondered, innocent curiosity in my voice.

  “I don’t remember.” Henry cleared his throat and walked to the ticket stand. Before Trix could take out her Oyster card, he produced a handful of bank notes. With careful precision, he peeled off enough for our tickets and walked to the stand. “Oyster cards are traceable.” He explained.

  “So you think that the Pureblood’s are gonna go through our bank statements?” William laughed.

  Trix shrugged, “I hope not. Unless bubble-gum flavoured lubricant is of interest to them.” She smirked, and William’s eyes danced as he returned her smile. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, careful to avoid skin on skin contact. Trix shrugged him off as if he was an annoying fly and walked through the ticket barrier.

  Henry’s eyebrow raised. I mimicked the Witching’s shrug and continued after her.

  We looked like an ordinary group of young people as we travelled on the tube. William made sexual jokes towards Trix, trying to break her emotionless expression. He failed, but I saw the glint in her eye when he made a particularly funny comment that drew the ire of an elderly man in priority seating.

  We travelled to Knightsbridge, walking the bricked-up streets. A large rainbow graffiti grim reaper smiled down at us from the walls, as we perused the boarded-up shop fronts.

  Callooh Calley was an old Chinese restaurant that had been renovated into a Lewis Carroll style bar. Black leather, Louis style furnishings with the occasional splash of hot pink made for an atmosphere that would take my mind off my impending doom. Trix had suggested it, as she knew one of the bartenders.

  We arrived at early evening and took a space in one of the booths. It curled around, the wall behind had a vintage black headboard with purple plush Chesterfield fabric. I allowed my finger to trail down the material as Henry and William sat opposite me.

  “I knew Charles Dodgeson,” William said casually, perusing the bar as if every inch of it was a novelty.

  “Who?” Trix asked lazily.

  “Lewis Carroll. His true name was Charles. Terrible stammer.” William waved his hand vaguely.

  I stood up and went to the bar, weaving around a group of giggling young women in Gothic Lolita dress and a businessman who sat at the end of the bar, drinking his troubles away. Henry stood up to follow me and placed his hand protectively on my lower back. Although I wore a tank top, I could feel his hand through the fabric. His touch sent ripples through my body, from my hairline to my toes.

  I ordered drinks, Jabberwocky cocktails. I had no idea what they contained, but Henry passed the bank notes over without a word, the corner of his mouth hitched into a smile. We sat back at the table, and I allowed my hand to drift onto Henry’s lap, possessively.

  Trix laughed, snapping me out of my sexual trance. “Really?”

  William nodded. I sat forward in my seat. “What?” I wondered.

  “King Kain here was telling me that he can make a woman orgasm without touching her.” Trix jabbed her finger in his direction before taking a sip of her brightly coloured cocktail.

  “It's true,” I admitted as William nodded smugly. “It’s an incubus thing. I’ve never experienced it.”

  William’s mouth popped open in shock. “Henry’s never made you cum?”

  Henry shook his head, his brow furrowed in a scowl. “You are foul, William. Of course, I have.” He looked at me for confirmation, and when I nodded, he continued. “Unlike you, I am confident in my sexual prowess.”

  William made a pfft sound with his lips. “Big talk for a celibate incubus.”

  I groaned and rested my head in my hands. “This is becoming a pissing contest.” I rolled my eyes at my best friend. Trix tucked a lock of peach coloured hair behind her ear.

  “I know.” Her eyes glinted. “But it’s so much fun.”

  William and Henry argued in low voices for a few moments. I began to understand Henry Blaire’s curse a little better. I could see his actions, emotions and gestures had tapered to fit with William. He was a different person than when he was with me. Not completely changed, but other facets of him shone through. The Henry that I knew was dangerous, protective, a coiled spring ready to pounce with the right coaxing. The Henry Blaire across from me, the Henry that William knew, was a blushing man just begging to be made fun of.

  Trix cleared her throat. “I dare you. Both of you.” The corner of her lips twitched, which was the Trix equivalent of a smirk.

  “What’s the dare?” William said as he cracked his fingers, and I flinched in disgust.

  “You have to thrall someone in the bar.” Trix took a sip of her cocktail and licked her bottom lip. “And it has to be a big one. The best display wins.”

  “What’s the prize?” Henry asked, his eyes flickered to mine. He must have searched my gaze for jealousy, but there was none. He wouldn’t be touching anyone, I reminded myself. And, I was going to be the one that he went home with.

  I shrugged and turned to Trix. She tapped her finger to her lips thoughtfully. “Winner gets a spell.” Her eyes flickered over the daemons. “Nothing massive, but if you need anything tracked I’m your girl.”

  William downed his drink in one sip and whirled around in his chair to face the other patrons of the bar. Henry stayed in the same position but allowed his eyes to drift over to the main area of the bar. We were partially hidden in the black patent booth. William stretched his legs into a broad and dominant position. I reached over and took Henry’s hand, allowing my thumb to rub over the smooth porcelain skin. I pointed to the man at the end of the bar with the dishevelled business suit knocking back Jägermeister.

  “Him?” I said it as a question.

  Trix nodded. “Good choice. He looks like he needs some fun.” Her hazel eyes travelled over the other customers, and her gaze rested on the waitress in an ugly black dress and an Alice band on her head. She looked almost thirty trying to be thirteen. She flicked her long peroxide blonde hair over her shoulder as she laughed at something another male customer was saying.

  “Her.” I nodded, and Trix smirked.

  William rubbed his palms together in anticipation. Henry’s hand remained in mine. He turned to me, and his lips transformed into a slow, sad smile. “I don’t need to do this,” Henry said.

  “I know.” I took a sip of my drink, thoughtfully. “But it’ll be fun, and I doubt that I have much competition from drunky over there.” I laughed.

  If any of the other patrons noticed the change in the atmosphere, they didn’t let on. As if a warm blanket dropped over the bar, I felt my chest heave as if I had just run ten miles. I felt the familiar brush of power but it wasn’t as strong as Damian’s, which was an all-consuming pressure. William and Henry’s power was like a subtle caress. I relaxed my vision and leant back into my seat. The energy flecks in the area which floated aimlessly before, a mixture of all the different auras and emotions of the other people in the bar came together like a flurry of snow. They gathered and sank into the daemon's skin. Trix shivered, and when I looked at her, I could tell that she sensed the power also, even if she couldn’t see it. Her knuckles had turned white as she gripped her cocktail.

  The lights flickered, and some of the patrons looked up to the faulty fluorescent bulbs, but most just continued chatting over their afternoon drinks. I watched as a slow black smoke trail travelled from William’s fingers, it slunk across the tiled granite floor like the walking fingers of a lover. The waitress reached the bar and picked up her tray, balancing a collection of full drinks on her hip. The smoke enveloped her like claws, demanding and seeking an opening. The tendrils of power trailed in through her nostrils. The peroxi
de blonde rubbed the end of her nose as if it tickled, but continued walking the length of the bar. William’s fingers moved a fraction, barely more than a twitch. The waitress’s back arched and the tray went skidding from her clutches like a Frisbee. The drinks hit the floor, bottom first, and spread out in a splash. Broken glass tinkled as it hit the tiles around her feet. As she struggled for balance, the woman gripped the edge of a Louis style chair. Her mouth gaped like a fish, flushed. Her eyes darted around the room as if searching for someone that could tell her what she was feeling. The low-cut dress revealed the tops of her breasts, which flushed red with arousal. Her knees buckled, and she fell to the floor, confused and satisfied. No one else could see the residue of daemon magic on the air, only I could.

  Our table rang out with laughter. Trix raised her drink in a toast. It was nice to forget about all the other daemon shit and focus on the good bits. I excused myself and walked to the bar to order another round.

  “We’ll wait until you get back for round 2,” Henry said, shyly.

  I leant against the wood of the bar, feeling comfort in the familiar sticky surface. It reminded me of my days as a Soho barmaid at Bar Noir.

  Someone coughed to my left, and I looked over to the sad drunk in a business suit. He raised his tumbler of whisky and smiled. His teeth were perfectly white, but he was well and truly trollied.

  “Pretty thing, aren’t you?” He mumbled. “Wouldn’t want a man like me now that I’ve lost my job.”

  I ignored him and ordered my drinks, I tapped my foot impatiently and made a conscious effort to avoid eye contact.

  “What?” He snarled. “You think you’re too good for me?” The drunk stood up from his stool, allowing it to fall to the ground. As if the world had stopped, I felt my vision tunnel. My hand gripped the switchblade in my pocket, for security.

  “I suggest you sit back down,” I said calmly. I eyed the barman who nodded once, implying he was summoning a bouncer.

  The drunk swayed and darted behind me, faster than a typically intoxicated man should have been able to move. One hand rested on the bar to help his balance, the other was tangled in the ponytail at the back of my head. He gripped the hair at the nape of my neck, controlling the movement of my head. I gritted my teeth, overcome with anger. I heard the squeak of a chair that indicated that I had a few seconds before one of the daemons intervened. They stood at the other end of the bar, and waited for my cue.

  I didn’t need to be protected.

  I reached into my pocket and flicked out the switchblade. I sunk the knife to the hilt into the meaty flesh of his hand, pinning it to the bar. The man screamed like a stuck pig as I calmly removed his other hand from my hair as if peeling off a plaster. The barman started to tremble, he held the landline phone in his hand like a useless prop.

  “You can’t bring a knife in here!” He squealed. “I’m phoning the police.”

  Henry darted forward, so quickly that my eyes could not track the movement. He appeared by my side, and his hand gripped the drunkard's wrist. I glanced to the barman who had cowered in the corner next to the Disaronno fridge, his hands shook as he fumbled with an ice pick that he had commandeered from the trough behind him.

  Henry’s jaw was taut, his eyes alive with anger as he gripped my assailant's free wrist. The drunk business man's other hand lay prone on the bar, still held in place with my cherry handled switchblade. The man’s grey eyes went dull, his skin had a pallor. I watched as his head lulled and his body slunk to the floor, suspended in an awkward sprawl with one hand still attached to the bar. His chest no longer moved, but Henry held onto his wrist. I watched as Henry drained him dry. The drunk's life was gone, done. I reached forward and plucked my switchblade from the man’s hand, causing his corpse to fall to the floor completely. Henry’s grip was like iron as he twisted my wrist and directed us outside of the bar before I had a chance to properly clean the blood from the short, sleek blade.

  You're a fucking murderer. Melanie snarled.

  Another voice interrupted her. I didn’t recognise it.

  Come to me, child.

  The frigid spring air whipped my hair from my face as we stepped into the cobbled streets. Henry’s cheeks flushed with stolen energy. His hair was a manic, wild, mess. His doe like wide eyes were alive and determined. He steered us towards an alleyway, it’s dark entrance was hidden from the street.

  He grabbed my face, and tension rolled off him in waves. As if he had become smoke, his fingers trailed under my skin leaving a tingling burn. It was as if he was under my skin. He gripped my cheeks, smooching my lips together as he faced me directly.

  “You. Are. So. Troublesome.” Henry Blaire enunciated. Overcome by an emotion that I couldn’t determine, his lips crashed against mine and his thigh hooked in between my legs, spreading them apart. I gasped and wrapped my hands around his neck, allowing my fingers to tug on his hair.

  High on death. Blood. Or just plain crazy, we gripped onto each other as if we would die if we let go.

  Someone cleared their throat behind us, and we broke apart for a second only to see Trix and William hovering at the end of the alleyway. Trix’s nose was bleeding, but I didn’t dare ask.

  The Elite daemon tilted his head to the road on the other side of the alleyway, away from Callooh Calley.

  “The police will be here soon.” William said, almost bored. A siren rang out in the distance. “I give it about two minutes.”

  Henry’s breathing was heavy as he surveyed the buildings around us. “If the police get her, she’s as good as Damian’s. He’s got people in the London Met.”

  Without another word, William’s phone alerted him to a text message and his face grew into a smile. William tilted his jaw to the end of the alley.

  A town car hovered on the double yellows. It let out a single shrill beep. I didn’t need telling twice. William had a car. Of course he did; he was daemon royalty.

  William jogged, at a very human speed, to the front of the vehicle and slid into the passenger's side. I went to the back of the sleek black limo. Covered in blood, Henry and I looked a bit awkward against the beige upholstery.

  “Where did you get that knife?” Henry asked, as his indigo eyes searched mine.

  I shrugged. “Melanie gave it to me before we left the house this afternoon.”

  His brow furrowed, his eyes flared to their daemonic pale icy blue. “Please tell me about your apparitions in future,” Henry asked politely. “Not that I don’t approve of your actions towards that vile man, but the situation got out of hand.”

  “Out of hand?” I laughed. “We just killed a man.”

  He turned in his seat and took my face in his hands again, forcing my eyes to connect with his. He searched my expression for something, but I couldn’t for the life of me tell what it was. When he didn’t find it, he sighed and leant back. Speaking to himself, instead of me, he said quietly;

  “The Pure blood has corrupted you deeper than I thought. We don’t have much time.”

  William Kain shifted in his seat and turned around to face him. “We’ll be at the penthouse in a minute.”

  A loud hysterical giggle caught my attention but no one else seemed to hear it; I saw that Melanie was back. She bit her knuckle as if she had been let in on the funniest secret in the world and it was a struggle not to laugh.

  I continued to stare at Henry, trying to ignore her.

  My daemon was right. The Pureblood had affected me more than I had cared to admit.

  7.

  Having known William Kain, as an acquaintance more than anything else, I nearly always forgot that he was daemon royalty. His status as an Elite daemon was due to his direct lineage from the Purebloods, who were monsters who had never been human. The only thing I knew about the Purebloods was that they had shapeshifting abilities.

  There was a difference between a daemon and a Demon. The little ‘A’ implied that they had once been human.

  Demon. Or Purebloods were creatures birthed from
Hell.

  I often wondered how an Elite daemon differed from a ‘run of the mill’ daemon. As we pulled into the private parking garage for The Shard, I realised that part of that difference must have been wealth.

  “We’re in The Shard?” I hissed incredulously. “The Shard?!”

  The Shard was an obscenely tall and expensive new skyscraper in Central London, I had read about it online and knew that tickets to the viewing deck and restaurants were hard to come by. Trix rolled her eyes and leant back into the leather as the guards waved us through the barricade to the car park.

  “King Kain isn’t just a nickname, Taylor.” She said.

  I eyed William suspiciously. From his sleeve tattoos and closely cropped haircut and right down to his t-shirt, which I was confident I had seen at a stall in Camden Market, his royal status was completely at odds with everything I knew about the Elite.

  William reached into his pocket and turned his phone on. Immediately, it began to ring and flash. He was very much in demand. His demeanour flipped from the fun-loving man I knew to a business man. William strode towards the elevator, leaving Trix, Henry and me alone in the car park full of Bentleys and Land Rover Evoques.

  “Each Family has a significant net worth,” Henry explained. “Although William has more capital than most, he made some rather astute investments at the turn of the 20th century.”

  “How old is the perv anyway?” Trix asked, her face impassive.

  “I have only known him since the eighties but I think he was born during the crusades,” Henry offered. He brushed a lock of my hair behind my ear. “He does not know of my past with the Witchings. Only you two do.”

  Trix nodded, and I blushed, flattered and happy that Henry considered me worthy of one secret even if he had a trove of others.

  “You mentioned the Families? So, there’s Blaire and Kain…?” I wondered out loud.

  “Rose and Cross.” Trix supplied helpfully. “I don’t know the others.”