by Helen Harper
Trying to look as if I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing, I wandered down the tightly packed shelves until I found the area I was looking for. Crammed in between a treatise on the properties of garlic, and a history of Vlad the Impaler that I’d actually read before, was the Geography book. I managed to pull it out without doing either the book or myself injury then, hugging it to my chest, took it over to the table where the Evocation titles waited.
Settling down, I turned to the index where, triumphantly, I found the London lair listed. Then I flipped over to the right chapter and began to read. I discovered quickly that the vamps’ main nest was situated in an area called Kingsway in London. Back in the seventeenth century, the king at the time, William III, had been in a spot of financial bother thanks to wars with Ireland and the continent, and had introduced a window tax to help pay for his armies. The more windows your property had, the more tax you had to pay. Although the tariff itself had been wildly unpopular with the masses, it had given rise to some clever tax dodgers who had simply bricked up their windows in order to avoid having to cough up. This naturally worked perfectly for the bloodsuckers as they could block out the potentially harmful rays of sun without raising any eyebrows whatsoever. And, of course, in this day and age, keeping original detailing such as non-existent window frames was considered noble and thoughtful, so they could easily get away with not knocking out the bricks to install double glazing.
By all accounts, the house itself looked remarkably nondescript from the outside. Naturally this would be in keeping with the vamps’ desire to keep a low profile. For some reason those particular undead denizens of the Otherworld attracted more attention and speculation than any other, so staying out of view even more so than the other species was of paramount importance. From what I scanned through, however, the interior was an entirely different situation. Apparently the opulence and grandeur within was on an epic scale. I tried not to snort with laughter at how much that must sting with the frugal mages. The author of the book itself possessed an incredibly sniffy tone when detailing the gold leaf adorning the walls, and the filigree marking out the door details.
As interesting as all this was, it didn’t really offer much insight into where the Ancile/Palladium might actually be housed, or what security measures might be in place. There was a sentence or two describing a trophy room, which sounded like it might fit – either that or it potentially contained remnants of previous victims anyway. Although the vamps almost never killed anyone these days, there were certainly enough stories of what had transpired in days gone by to reach the ears of even the Cornish pack. I’d really been hoping for some kind of helpful map, with an X marking the spot of where the so-called treasure would be kept. Instead, I’d just have to do all my scouting when I actually got there. If I got there.
Closing the vamp book, having gleaned all the possible information from it that I possibly could, I tried to put it all out of my mind for the time being and do some real studying. The Evocation books offered lots of helpful tips and guidance for how to develop and progress in that discipline, and I ended up making copious notes for all sorts of things. None of it really involved anything practical, however. I had the sneaking suspicion that Evocation was something you either did or you didn’t, and that I would fall firmly into the latter category. By the time I was done, however, the sun was beginning to dip in the sky. That meant that I’d have to start thinking about what on earth I could do to suck up to Corrigan to get him to make me his date for the party itself. Completely out of ideas, I closed all the books and returned them to the shelves where I’d originally found them, then called out a loud and cheery goodbye to Slim, who’d somehow disappeared again in the intervening hours.
*
Managing to make it to the cafeteria for a proper sit down meal this time, I was again gratified to be joined by Mary and her friends. They were all still excited about the lesson we’d had that morning, which I’d actually completely forgotten about since with all of the revelations I’d had to deal with from Alex. They told me in hushed, thrilled tones about how they’d spent virtually all afternoon practising their attacks and their kicks, and how confident they all were that I’d be impressed with them. I found myself smiling indulgently, like some proud parent. Even Brock, the boy of little words, found it in himself to describe to me how exhilarating he’d found it when he’d managed to scissor kick, then punch, then spin and catch the side of his tree, all within a couple of heartbeats. I extracted a promise from them all that they wouldn’t do anything stupid like try to attack anything real, and they all solemnly agreed. Of Alex, there was no sign, however from across the room Thomas caught my eye and lifted up his water glass in a silent toast. I glowered at him, but then caught myself doing the same and raising up my own cup in return before taking a small sip too. Idiot.
I begged off the evening activities, even though both Deborah and Mary exhorted me to join in with their girlie mani-pedi session. Glancing down at my own ragged nails, I didn’t think that it would really be my thing. Besides, if I was going to sneak out to contact Corrigan, I’d have to get in some sleep first. I pleaded old age, noting that the two girls looked slightly relieved that I’d declined their offer, then padded upstairs, still brewing over what on earth I was going to say to him.
Waking up several hours later, I got to my feet and stretched before peering outside. The moon, barely a sliver now, remained uncovered this night, and the stars twinkled and shone with a ferocity that seemed to mirror my own feelings. I wished that I’d had the chance to talk to Alex again, so that I could run through what I might say to Corrigan, but I figured it was probably too late. In fact, it was more than possible that the Lord Alpha himself was all tucked up and snoozing away in his own bed by this point, and I wouldn’t be able to speak to him at all. I wasn’t sure if that would be a good thing or not. I’d just have to try again the following night, and delaying the inevitable probably would just make it harder rather than easier. Before I could stop myself, I started wondering what he wore to bed. The shifter girls, who I used to share a dorm with back in Cornwall, did tend to have pyjamas or night-dresses, unless it was around the time of the full moon. Somehow the idea of Corrigan wearing checked flannel pyjamas didn’t quite fit however. I couldn’t imagine why.
Pushing the lurid visions out of my head, I thought more carefully about what I could wear myself for this night’s little adventure. If I put on the suffocating mage robes again, I knew that I’d just end up taking them off as I got outside, safe in the knowledge that all the little mages were tucked up nice and snug in their beds. But parading around in my underwear this time, given that I’d have to leave the academy grounds entirely, might not be the smartest idea I’d ever had. I frowned, considering. My own clothes hadn’t been returned back to me, but they must be hanging around the laundry area somewhere. Deciding to venture out to see if I could repatriate them before I went outside, I wrapped the robes around my body like a sarong, rather than bothering to go through the rigmarole of trying to get them completely back on. Of course if Thomas had deigned to give me some proper nightwear, I thought irritably, then this wouldn’t be an issue.
It only took me a few minutes to tiptoe downstairs and past the kitchens to the area that my nose defined as the laundry room thanks to its clean scent of detergent. Once inside, I was amazed at the size of the place. I mean, I knew that there were Initiates and mages abounding across the academy but this wasn’t a laundry room, it was more like a factory. Rows upon rows of neatly pressed and differently coloured robes sat on shelves, just waiting to be returned to their owners. Despite the size of the room, the uniformity of the majority of its contents meant that I managed to locate my original t-shirt that I’d arrived in fairly easily. Squeezing it over my head, I gave it a happy little hello, then began searching for my jeans.
Unfortunately they were less easy to find. Annoyed at the idea that they might have been thrown out, I had no choice but to look for some kind
of alternative. There were a couple of pairs of men’s jeans, and some dark trousers, but it seemed incredibly unlikely that any of them would fit. I knew that I’d have to get a move on if I had any chance of contacting Corrigan before he really did fall asleep so I just ended up grabbing the very first thing that my hand landed on and pulling it over my hips. It turned out to be a very small micro-mini skirt in bright yellow. For a moment I gaped down at myself in horror, then gave in, zipped it up, and quickly left the way I’d entered.
I jogged back along the corridor until I reached the cafeteria where I already knew I’d be able to gain access to the outside world. Repeating the actions of my previous ‘escape’, I pushed myself through the same window, finding it easier this time with practice. It also helped that the wounds on my hand were now completely scabbed over and no longer required a bandage to prevent any seepage. And then I was back outside, again taking in the fresh scent of the night.
Instead of heading off round the back of the main building, this time I jogged down the driveway. Having arrived here by portal, I, of course, had no idea how far it actually stretched, but it seemed logical that it would be the fastest way to leave the compound itself. Thanks to my visit to the Ministry headquarters in London to confront the Arch-Mage, I was well aware that the mages placed a nullification spell against any shifters being able to make use of the Voice, the mental telepathy link that only pack alphas could initiate in order to contact their so-called subjects. It seemed pointless to me that they bothered using it here at the academy, where the likelihood of a real shifter presenting themselves seemed to be about zero, but I supposed that I should just be grateful that I’d also discovered in the course of my temporary life up in Scotland that I also had the power to initiate a Voice link with Corrigan. Not with anyone else – I’d tried that and abjectly failed – but for some reason, with the Lord Alpha and the Lord Alpha only, I could do it. As it was beyond logic that I could even hear the Voice as I wasn’t a shifter, I didn’t bother to examine too deeply the reasons why I could contact Corrigan. I’d just have to hope that once I got off the academy grounds I’d be able to use it without any trouble.
For once it appeared that my luck was in. I only had to jog about a mile down the driveway itself before I came to a set of imposing gates. I’d managed to sneak into the Ministry in London by short circuiting the very human security system. Hopefully, that would be a similar case here. However, once I reached the gates themselves, I realised that they were actually already ajar, and that I’d be able to squeeze myself through without needing to try anything extra. Surprised, and praying it wasn’t some kind of crafty trap that the Dean had set just in case I decided to try this very thing, I slipped through.
Somehow, without really knowing how, I was aware of the moment that the nullification spell was no longer affecting me. It wasn’t an obvious difference by any means, but it felt as if some part of my brain had been oddly muffled and now the dampener had been removed. Exhaling relief that at least the physical complications of using the Voice to beg Corrigan pathetically for a date had been removed, I moved away from the gates themselves and sat myself down cross-legged by the side of them.
The night air felt considerably cooler against my naked skull than it had done previously. It was certainly bloody cold against my uncovered legs with the daft yellow mini skirt on. Thinking that I might as well have not bothered with it all, as it was short enough to ensure that even sitting cross-legged wasn’t an issue, I rubbed my skin vigorously to try to keep warm. I knew that for all the chill in the air, it wasn’t the temperature that was making me shiver.
“Come on, Mack,” I whispered to myself. “You can do this.”
I closed my eyes and scrunched up my face and tried the Voice.
Umm…
Oh, great start, I told myself sarcastically. ‘Ummm.’ That will really grab the Brethren Lord’s full attention.
I almost fell over from my sitting position when it did.
Mack, what’s wrong?
The concern in his Voice was almost touching. Almost. Hi Corrigan. How are things?
You’re contacting me in in the middle of the night to ask how I’m doing?
I could almost see him rolling his flashing green eyes at me. Uh, no. I felt bad, no, I FEEL bad about what happened yesterday. You know at the shrink’s place.
There was silence for a moment before he answered. Is this an apology? An actual apology from the big bad scary Mackenzie Smith?
Yeah. I mentally shrugged. I guess it is.
There was another moment of silence that deepened until I wasn’t even sure if he was still paying attention.
Corrigan? Are you still there?
I’m waiting.
Waiting for what?
Your apology.
My…It was a struggle to not let my irritation show through. It was much harder to mask your true feelings through Voice contact than through normal conversation. I apologise.
Thank you. So why are you really contacting me, kitten?
I, uh, thought that maybe I should do something. You know, to make it up to you. I behaved badly.
Ripples of unfeigned amusement carried over the telepathic waves. Oh, I’m sure I could think of something or other that you could to do to make it up to me.
Kill me now. Don’t get any ideas, my Lord. This is purely on a platonic basis.
I will try not to let the disappointment overcome me. So what did you have in mind?
I crossed my fingers tightly and hoped for the best. I thought maybe we could meet. You know in person. And then I could, you know, apologise. And, um, we could chat.
Chat? About what? The weather perhaps? Knitting patterns?
You’re right. This is a stupid idea. I’m sorry for bothering you. Alex would just have to come up with some other way of getting into the vampires’ abode. This was not going to work.
Hold those horses, kitten. As you’ve gone to so much trouble to get in touch then perhaps you are right. We should meet. And…chat. Why don’t we have dinner? I know some good places that are quiet and intimate where we wouldn’t be disturbed.
I really didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking or the suggestive tone of the Lord Alpha’s Voice. Well, actually, Corrigan, I think it would be better if we went somewhere where there were a lot of people. You know, when you met me yesterday it was because I had anger management counselling.
You don’t say.
I swallowed. Err…I do say. And I find that it’s easier for me to keep my temper and act like a normal person if I’m in a big crowd. In fact, it’s actually part of my therapy to spend as much time out in the busy public as possible.
That’s an interesting choice of words, kitten.
What?
‘Normal person’. Because you’re definitely not normal and I’m pretty sure that you’re not a person either. You still owe me an explanation, I think.
Well, I’d have thought that by now you’d have gotten all the information you need out of Betsy or Tom or Julia.
Despite what you may think of me I don’t tend to force my shifters to tell me things that they don’t want to.
I snorted. Bullshit. If he was trying to pretend that he wasn’t actually some kind of furry megalomaniac then he was talking to the wrong person. My Lord, in that case, you won’t force me to tell you what I don’t want to either.
But you’re not one of my shifters and I’m not your Lord.
Damn fucking right he wasn’t. I ran out of patience. Well, okay, whatever. I’m a normal person who happens to be free next Saturday night. If you aren’t doing anything then maybe I can come to London and we could meet. Otherwise, never mind. I understand that being the Dark Lord of the Brethren means that you’re a busy man. Or panther. Or whatever.
There was a moment of brooding silence. I held my breath, terrified that I’d pushed too hard. The he finally spoke again. Next Saturday causes a few problems. However I believe I can overcome them. I have to at
tend a gathering with some Otherworld leaders. Will mixing in such company be a problem for you?
I couldn’t believe it was going to be this easy. I was careful to be cautious in my response however. As long as you’re not talking demi-goddesses then I can probably manage.
Okay then. No demi-goddesses, I promise. Wear something pretty. I will come and pick you up at the Ministry.
Wear something pretty? I wasn’t a fucking doll. Of course. I will look forward to it.
As will I, kitten, as will I.
I broke off the connection. A single trickle of sweat had formed in the hollow of my neck and was making its uncomfortable way down my skin. Bugger. Why did he have to be so nice all of a sudden? Feeling suddenly overcome with guilt, I stood up, yanking down my borrowed skirt to cover my freezing arse.
And then Brock staggered round the corner and stared at me in shock.
Chapter Twelve
“Baldilocks,” he slurred, “I was jusht, er, jusht out for a walk.”
The strong reek of alcohol was emanating from his very pores. Understanding filled me, and I abruptly realised why the massive gates leading to the academy had been left open. Why I’d thought that teenage mages would be different from any other kids of the same age, I had no idea.
I smiled at him gently. “Of course you were, Brock. In fact, that’s exactly what I was doing.”
“Yesh, yesh.” He nodded vigorously. “It’sh a lovely night.” Then his mouth twisted and he sat down heavily onto the gravel.
