Oblivious, Talent leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. “You honor me, ma’am.” His visage blurred before her eyes, the words he spoke a buzz in her ears. “I can only hope,” he said with strangely drawn-out diction, “that you will feel the same come Monday morning.”
Ice ran along her skin, and she gripped the arm of her chair. “What have you done?”
He stood, looming, his eyes holding regret. “Nothing I’m proud of.” Then he guided her heavy body down to lie upon the couch and slipped a small square of paper into her limp hand. “Do not worry, Mrs. Lane. The chemist assures this won’t hurt the baby.”
The baby. Their baby. Win. She needed to save them. But her world went black and she could think no more.
Chapter Forty-one
Late as it was, the Victoria Embankment appeared abandoned, peaceful even. Winston’s footfall was little more than scuffs along the wide, flat pavers. A warm breeze rustled the leaves of the trees so carefully planted along the path. Before him, the many spires and towers of Westminster Palace pierced the grey sky, and the glowing face of Big Ben stared back like a yellowed, unblinking eye.
He walked past the electric lampposts that ran along the curved wall of the embankment. Their strange, unwavering white light made him see the world clearly. The rippling waters of the Thames reflected those harsh lights and the ones coming from the gaslights upon the distant Westminster Bridge. Above the bridge, the moon hung bright in the mottled sky, the edges of it indistinct beneath the moving clouds.
Though he had many things to worry over, Win took it all in. This was his city, and he loved it well. Dark and strangely beautiful, London was his home. And he might never see it again. He shoved his shaking hands into his pockets and took a deep breath of acrid air. One last and proper taste of the city before he fought for his child’s soul, and for his.
The air stirred again, a swirling gust that did not appear to come from any one direction, and then Jones was simply there, standing beneath the garish light of an electric lamp. “I almost wondered if I’d have to hunt you down,” he said.
Winston took a step closer. Tonight, Jones wore his own skin, or rather the skin Winston knew him in. His white eyes followed Win’s movements in a twitchy sort of way, and Win fought the urge to laugh. Jones was nervous.
“I gave my word that I would be here,” Win said. “I do not go back on my word.”
Jones leaned one elbow on the high embankment wall. “And yet you have not brought me my son.”
“We shall get to that in a moment.”
Jones bared his teeth on a growl. “We get to it now!” Before Win’s eyes, he seemed to grow taller, broader, less human. “Mary Margaret Ellis kept him from me, and I’ll be damned if my daughter continues to do the same.”
Winston returned the stare, ignoring the sweat trickling down his collar and the tremor in his back. Part of him wanted to look over his shoulder for fear of seeing Poppy appear before he could get this business done. Instead, he leaned against the embankment wall as Jones had done. “All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you where he is.”
“You most certainly will not!” Poppy said.
They both stood at attention upon hearing Poppy’s irate shout. She walked out of the shadows, her dark eyes snapping with fury, her long legs eating up the ground as she advanced. And still dressed as a man.
Win watched her, not daring to look at Jones.
“What on earth have you done to yourself, Poppy Ann?” Jones said with a shocked laugh. Oddly, Jones almost sounded affectionate.
Her straight brows nearly touched. “None of your bloody business.” Her gaze swung around to Winston and went ice cold. “You unmitigated bastard. That you would drug me and betray my trust—”
“For our child!” Win snapped. Inside his heart raced with nervous fear, but he could not let it show. “Did you honestly expect me to give up our child for anything on this earth?”
She winced, her face crumbling. “I cannot… I promised not to let my brother come to harm.”
Win threw up his hands and made a noise of disgust.
“Be reasonable, Poppy.” Jones took a step in her direction. “He is my son.”
“So say you.”
Jones took another abrupt step closer, and she stiffened, her hand drifting to her side, where no doubt several weapons were stored. Jones paused. “Moira said so too. Do not doubt that.”
Winston heard the sorrow in Jones’s voice and, for a brief moment, he felt sympathy for the devil. Poppy, however, seemed to suffer no such sentimentality.
“Tragic for you,” she snapped.
Flames erupted over Jones’s face as he growled. “Then it shall be your child and husband, and I will gladly take them to see you suffer.”
“No!” Winston shouted. “I will tell you.”
Poppy pulled a blade free. “Another word and I will kill you.”
Win’s fists bunched, but he didn’t move. He dared not overplay his hand now.
Poppy looked away first, her white skin glowing in the moonlight as she studied Jones. “Let us get to the heart of this. Do not pretend that you did not hunt down Win that night fourteen years ago in order to arrange this very moment.”
“Of course I did.” Jones sneered. “You and yours stole from me, hunted me down as if I were at fault.” He stabbed his thumb against his chest. “You imprisoned me.”
“Yes.” Poppy did not so much as blink, yet she appeared to look down her nose at the demon. Such a perfect Poppy gesture. “And you hate me for it.”
Jones flinched as if slapped, but then stood taller. “I want you to suffer.”
“Then take me.”
“Poppy, no.” In two steps, Win was at her side. “Do not do this.” He had to make a good show of it, make it appear that he did not want her to suggest this very offer. He grabbed her arm and gave it a small, imploring squeeze.
“You no longer have a say.” She shook him off, her strength almost too much. He shot her a look but let go, stepping back. Poppy lifted her brow as she looked at Jones. “Well? Take me and leave Win and my child alone. They aren’t what you really want at any rate.”
Jones cocked his head. “And my son? I will see him.”
She crossed her arms in front of her. “When he is of age, I will give him the option of being introduced to you.”
Seconds ticked past. Time in which Winston felt as though his life was ebbing out of him. Everything ached; his muscles were tight with fear and helpless rage. Almost finished now.
“It is a good bargain,” Poppy said in a low voice.
Jones’s smile was smug. “Yes. It is.” His eyes turned white as snow. “Terms.”
“My child will not be snuffed out of existence. Win’s soul goes free. In return, you get what you see.” She spread her arms wide and willing, before cocking a brow. “I’ll need that in writing.”
Fire and ice flared in Jones’s eyes but he simply drew out another rolled foolscap. “Here. Does that meet with your approval?”
Poppy hesitated, and it seemed that Jones leered over her. Thoughtfully, she rested her knuckles against her chin. “One contract should be to free Win and the child. The other should be for me.”
Everything stilled as Jones studied her. Poppy stared back. “I do not trust you.”
Jones’s teeth flashed in the light. “Nor I you.” Watching her, he reached into his pocket and pulled free another contract. “Winston Lane’s blood will be needed for this.”
Poppy’s eyes narrowed. “As I thought.” She glanced at Win, and he steeled himself not to react. “Sign it.”
“And if I don’t?” His voice nearly broke.
“Then our child will be destroyed.”
Not looking at either of them, he pricked himself and signed in blood. His eyes burned as he watched the crimson stain of his name spread across the paper. Jones’s pale hand came into view. With an elaborate flourish, he pricked his finger and made a sign in black blood. Hieroglyphics.
Win glanced at the demon but Jones was already stepping away, his attention on Poppy.
“Now yours.”
Poppy accepted the next scroll. With Jones’s glare burning into her, Poppy read the contract over. “Quill?”
Jones’s nostrils flared as he took another breath and then handed Poppy the same black feather quill that he’d presented to Winston. Poppy took the quill in hand, and Win’s heart nearly slammed out of his ribs, his anticipation was so thick. On a sharp curse, he paced away, feeling the weight of Jones’s mocking stare with every step. Steady on. Almost there.
Poppy pricked her finger, then leaned forward to sign.
“Poppy.”
She looked up at Winston’s call. Their eyes met, and he swallowed hard. “I…”
“Get on with it,” snapped Jones.
The red fan of her lashes lowered, and with the self-same flourish as Jones, she signed. Win sagged against the stone wall as Jones repeated the action. It was done.
“Most excellent,” said Jones.
Poppy glared at him, refusing to move closer to Jones’s outstretched hand. “Why me?” she asked. “You owe me that much.”
“Now that I have you, it is an easy request to make.” Jones grinned then, a self-satisfied gesture that had Win aching to smash his face. “My kind does not fear fire, nor earth, but ice?” He chuckled low and malevolently. “Oh how my enemies fear that. With you at my side, there is no one I cannot defeat.”
Cool, calculating eyes of deep brown studied Jones. “And if I decide to turn my powers against you?”
A short laugh punctuated the air. “You are bound to me now, daughter. To do as I say.” Grinning with glee, Jones held out a hand once more. “Now, my dear, if you’d come with me.”
It was Poppy’s turn to grin. “I do believe you have been tricked.”
It took a moment for Jones to comprehend that the voice coming from Poppy’s mouth was that of a man. Jones’s white glare went to Win, his lips curling back in a feral grimace before he slowly turned back to Poppy.
The air about her stirred, and then Jack Talent stood smiling before them. “Isn’t that correct, Inspector?”
“I believe so, Mr. Talent.” Win spoke lightly, but the battle had only just begun.
Jones’s thin body swelled and grew. “Then I shall take you to hell with me, Jack Talent.”
Talent peered up at him. “Already been, thanks. Besides, you might have my blood but the name on the contract says Poppy Ellis Lane.”
“In short,”—Win gave Jones a pleasant smile—“the contract has been forged, and thus is null and void. This one, however,”—he held up the contract absolving Jones from touching him or his child—“is quite valid.”
Sharp teeth flashed before a roar of utter outrage tore from Jones’s lips. It shook the night and rattled his bones. Then Jones broke free of his mortal body in a burst of fire and smoke, knocking Win and Talent back. Talent hit the pavement hard, his head bouncing against it. He did not get back up. Smoke swirled then coalesced into the form of something that froze Win with terror. It rose to full height, all seven feet of it, as it snarled at them.
Werewolf. Win’s mind screamed the word as he scrambled back, his body instantly in full-flight mode. It was an illusion. An illusion. The were’s roar and his hot, fetid breath had Win’s body thinking otherwise. Bile rushed up his throat. Win held it down and whipped out the short swords he had strapped beneath the back of his coat. Clutching them in his hands, he rose to face his nightmare.
The were pounced. Win leapt to the side, his sword slashing down as he moved. It met with bone, and blood sprayed his face. Hot, wet. Get away. Run away! He ignored the command. The were howled in pain and rage. Win hadn’t time to move again before the thing lashed out, catching him on the chest. Win flew back several feet, smashing into a lamppost. Stars sparkled before his eyes and he tasted blood.
Move!
Win rolled, knife-sharp claws raking the cobbles where he’d lain. Again, Win struck, cutting and swiping with his swords. Teeth snapped before his face, claws gouged his flesh. Oh, how he remembered. His body shook, threatening to break down against his will. Grunting, he kicked the beast in the stomach, flinging it away with all his strength.
The were tumbled back then righted with blinding speed. “A fighter now, are you?” Jones’s voice was garbled under the guise of the were.
Sword hilts held tight in his sweating hands, Win crouched low and ready. “Damn right. Now fight me in your true form.” The scarab lay heavy and waiting within his trouser pocket. He only needed the chance to use it. “Or are you afraid, Apep?”
“You dare?” Jones snarled. “You dare speak my sacred name!”
But even as he shouted, the were form faltered, becoming grey and wavering until Jones once more stood before him. No longer thin, but bulky with muscle and skin of deep crimson.
Win gripped his weapons. “We are children of Isis, no longer under your spell.”
Jones’s eyes went to Poppy’s charm dangling about Win’s neck, exposed now that his shirt was in tatters. “You think Isis will protect you? Stupid Winston Lane.”
He flew at Win, a blur of red skin and flashing eyes. The impact jolted through Win and took his breath. Fists pummeled his face, quick, hard explosions of pain. He held onto consciousness by a thread as his shaking hand reached for the scarab in his pocket.
Above him, Apep’s eyes burned with crimson fire. “You will beg for relief, Lane, beg to be my slave.” And then he stabbed into Win with claws that had grown long and shining black.
Win bellowed, his body bowing against the pain. The claws sank deeper into his flesh, down into his chest. Convulsions hit him, blood filling his mouth as he writhed. Blinding flecks of white burst before his eyes, but not enough to block out the sight of Apep’s sharp grin. “This is only the beginning.”
No, it was the end. With a shaking hand, Win pushed the scarab toward Apep’s bare chest. The scarab vibrated against Win’s palm as if it yearned to be free. So close. Win’s vision went dim, the pain wrenching through his bones. But the moment before the stone touched Apep’s skin, the demon snarled and knocked it away.
A sob of defeat broke from Win’s lips, and then the demon twisted his claws deep. White lightning ripped through Win as he bellowed, loud enough that he almost missed the sound of his wife’s scream.
Poppy raced along the embankment, the sight of Isley’s claws stabbing into Win’s thrashing body making her scream and sending a lash of sheer rage through her drug-weakened limbs.
She didn’t think, didn’t speak. She acted, throwing the full force of her power at Isley. From behind her, the water of the Thames launched up and around her in a wave of freezing water. It knocked into Isley and Win, sending the demon tumbling and Win flopping like a fish upon the ground.
Shit. She pulled the power back as she raced forward, and without pausing, kicked Isley in the head. He skidded farther away from Win, his red limbs flying akimbo. Again, Poppy struck Isley’s torso, then his head, taking advantage of the demon’s stunned state, moving him away from Win.
She’d got him ten feet away when Isley surged upward on a roar. A meaty fist hit Poppy square upon the cheek. Black pain exploded in her skull. Ducking another hit, she fled to Win as she threw out another punch of power. A wall of thick ice barely formed around her and Win before the blast of the demon’s fire struck. The burning heat of the attack melted the wall. Wrenching her hand around, she grabbed a chakram blade from her pocket and threw it. The demon deflected the round, spinning blade with a swipe of his claws, so she sent another wave at him, encasing his upper body in thick, blue ice.
His roar blew back her hair, but she did not flinch. More and more ice surrounded him. She was lowering the Thames in an effort to keep him contained, and he was melting it just as fast. He was almost free. She reached for another blade when Win’s voice croaked. “The scarab. His name.” Blood trickled from Win’s split lip. “He is Apep.”
&nbs
p; Apep? Understanding lit through her. Apep’s name was on the scarab. It could destroy him. She scrambled, slipping on slush, banging her knees as she rose and stumbled toward the small, stone beetle that lay a few feet from the lamppost.
Apep screamed, the sound of crackling ice filling the air. Poppy’s hand closed around the scarab. She ran toward Apep and his snarling rage. She snarled too, running at full speed with her breath burning in her throat.
Apep’s arm broke free of its icy bonds. He swung his claws as she neared, knowing that one hit would take her head.
“Poppy!” Win’s voice, strong with desperation. “Drop!”
So she did, not knowing why, but only that she trusted him. She fell back, hearing the high-pitched whine of a blade flying over the space she had just occupied. Poppy glanced up to see the gold blur of her chakram as it sliced through the trapped demon’s arm like a greedy spoon through warm pudding. The severed arm fell to the ground with a thud. Apep screeched as he thrashed, trying to free his remaining arm. Cracks grew, and the ice crumbled from the force.
Heart in her mouth, Poppy called on her remaining strength and leapt up. Apep’s arm was nearly free. On a cry borne of desperation, Poppy slammed the scarab against Apep’s red chest.
With a flash of light, the scarab came to life, burrowing into his flesh as the demon writhed and shouted. Light filled Apep’s eyes and shot from his nostrils and mouth with golden fire. He stared at Poppy, anguish etched in his face. “You were mine too. You could have been like me.”
A strange sensation of loss filled her, and then the demon exploded in a burst of smoke and fire.
The explosion sent thick chunks of ice through the air and knocked her and Win down along with it. Apep’s final roar rippled through the night. And then he was gone, so abruptly that it almost felt as though Poppy had dreamed the whole thing. Exhaustion hit her in the same instant, and she sank back with a sigh. Her heart beat a steady but hard rhythm in her chest, the strain of using her power weakening her as always.
For a moment, she simply breathed, then Win’s boots came into view. Her eyes traveled up the long length of his lean form until she met his gaze. A greenish tint colored his skin, and beads of perspiration dotted his brow. His hands shook, though she could see his effort to keep them still.
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