by M. J. Scott
The second and third brandies I’d downed after leaving Simon and Guy helped somewhat . . . just enough to make the world feel a bit detached, as though I was part of the mist dampening the cool night air.
I sucked in a few more breaths, clearing my head. I still had Martin to deal with, after all. I checked my watch. I had paid the driver of the hackney to return for me at two thirty. I was about to discover if I’d thrown my money away.
The semicircular drive that curved around the front of the house was empty except for one thing.
Saskia DuCaine.
She stood on the bottom step, watching the front gates. A dark cloak hid the pink dress, but her hair was uncovered and gleamed in the misty light. I could only see the side of her face, as she was half turned toward the house, or the warmth from the gas lamps that hung from wrought-metal poles and chains fastened to the marble portico above her perhaps.
I hesitated, debating whether I should attempt to remain unseen. Moving closer would only bring the visions back, plus she wasn’t the type of girl who loitered with men in the dark. I was surprised there wasn’t a servant waiting with her now. Perhaps she was sneaking away too. It was early for her to be leaving her own family’s party, but who was I to judge when I was making a break for it myself? The thought of her giving her family the slip made me like her even more than I did already.
I squelched the sentiment hard, but it refused to vanish. Stupid, Fen. Even Holly had warned me off this girl. A warning that right at this moment, the brandy seemed disinclined to heed.
After all, it said, it was only gentlemanly not to leave her standing out here unaccompanied at such an hour. It’s not safe out here. Of course, I didn’t imagine that Saskia DuCaine was headed off to a rendezvous with a pack alpha, or anybody else for that matter. Well-bred human girls didn’t do that sort of thing. No, she was probably trying to make her curfew at the Guild. If the Guild had a curfew. A safe destination, the Guild of Metalmages. Much like the drive of this house was, most likely, perfectly safe. Still, the stupid side of me set free by the alcohol latched on to the excuse to walk to where she stood.
“Miss DuCaine,” I said politely as I reached her side.
She jumped a little, then made a noise of apology as she turned to see who had spoken. A smile curved her lips briefly. “Technically the correct form of address is Prentice DuCaine.”
“I stand corrected.” I swept a bow, not sure why I felt the urge. “Prentice DuCaine. What are you doing out here all by yourself?”
I waited for the visions to crowd me, but it seemed that the iron was enough to deal with just one person and the air around her stayed almost clear. Flames flickered over her head but they were fainter. Much fainter. And really, flames around a metalmage were to be expected.
I was tempted to push, to look again and see what was to be seen now that her futures weren’t tangled and blurred by those of everybody else in the ballroom, but I stopped myself.
“Waiting for my ’cab,” she said. “It’s late.”
“Likewise my hackney,” I said. “Perhaps something is slowing their travels.”
“I hope not,” she said, frowning. “I have to be up early.”
Whereas I was unlikely to see my bed before dawn. A timely reminder that we were from two very different worlds. I took another breath of that cooling, calming night air. “I’m sure they won’t be long.”
She raised an eyebrow at me. “Exactly how sure?”
I mirrored her eyebrow lift. “I can’t see them turning the corner down the street, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Pity.” She scratched idly at the back of her hand, then made an exasperated face and tugged off her gloves with impatient movements. Once her hands were freed, she shook them, flexing the fingers slowly before stretching her arms out before her. “Sainted earth, that’s better.”
A red weal marred the skin on the back of her right hand. A burn?
“Did you hurt yourself?” I didn’t reach to touch her. One didn’t take the hand of nice young ladies alone in the dark.
“It’s nothing. I was just a little careless.” She made a fist, then dropped her hand to her side. “It will be fine tomorrow.”
Looking at the angry red mark, I wasn’t so sure of that. Burns hurt—I knew that much. I thought of all the time she must have spent tonight with men’s hands pressing on the burn through her gloves as she danced. She’d either numbed it up with something or she was tougher than she looked. Something made me suspect the latter. “You should get Simon to look at it.”
She flicked her fingers in a gesture of dismissal. “We have healers at the Guild.”
“Then you should get one of them to look at it.”
The exasperated look returned to her face. “You sound like my brothers.”
I wasn’t sure if that was insult or compliment but before I could ask, a ’cab chugged through the gate and came to a steaming, heaving halt before us. I stepped down and reached to open the rear door.
“Prentice DuCaine,” I said and, unthinking, stretched out my hand to help her into the cab.
As her fingers touched mine, the thunder in my head disappeared, the flames flicking at my vision snuffed like candles. Stunned, I stepped back, releasing her hand, but before I could speak, the ’cab took off and she was gone.
“Did Saskia leave?” It was Holly.
I started, eyes still staring at the gate where the ’cab had turned and rumbled out of view. Had I imagined it? That sudden respite from the visions?
They were back now, back as soon as I had let go of Saskia’s hand, rising around me like shredded ghosts once more. I reached for my wrist to press the iron closer.
“Fen?” Holly’s voice sounded concerned.
I shook myself, trying to break the trance. There was no logical explanation for the touch of Saskia’s hand stopping my visions. I must have imagined it. “Yes. She left in a ’cab just now.”
“And you?” She tilted her head, eyes shining bronze gold in the gaslight, matching her dress. The unusual color didn’t distract from the worry they held.
I shrugged. “Reggie said she was staying the night here with you.”
“She is.” Her tone suggested that wasn’t the point.
“She had plenty of partners in there.”
“You said you’d stay.”
“I—” I turned back to the gate, my palm tingling with the remembered sensation of Saskia’s skin. “I have somewhere I need to be.”
“Fen, you’re not going to do something stupid, are you?” Her voice held more than a hint of censure.
My hand clenched, sensation fleeing. I turned back to Holly. “Such as?” I asked silkily.
She jerked her head toward the gate. “She’s not one of us, Fen. You can’t toy with someone like her.”
“Guy is hardly one of us,” I pointed out.
“I’m not toying with Guy.”
“You were when you first started.”
“It’s different.”
“How?”
“She’s human. She’s grown up with all this.” Holly gestured at the pillars that supported the domed portico. At the expensively intricate gas lamps and impeccably manicured topiary standing in enameled pots at their feet. It was a long way from the back alleys of the border boroughs, from the sweaty, stuffy attic rooms above the brothel where our mothers had worked, from hunger and learning survival the hard way. A long way from the childhood Holly and Reggie and I had shared.
“Too good for a gutter rat like me?” I couldn’t quite keep the anger from my tone. Holly was supposed to be on my side. Had always been on my side before now. Until Guy had come along.
“I think she could hurt you,” Holly said softly, stopping my anger in its tracks. She was worried about me, not about what I was going to do. Or maybe a little of both.
“What makes you think I’m even interested?”
Holly laughed. “I know you, Fen.”
“Do you?” I tilted my head
at her. We’d shared that childhood and had kept each other safe in the years since then, but she was leaving our world now. Joining Guy’s. Keeping secrets.
She looked hurt and I regretted my temper. “Sorry.” I took a deep breath and pressed my fingers into the base of my skull where brandy and the visions had joined forces to make my head ache like hellfire.
Holly’s gaze followed my hand, narrowing as if she wanted to see through my shirt to the chain beneath. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
I shrugged.
“You have to do something about it, Fen. You can’t just drink yourself unconscious every night.”
“Why not? You don’t seem to approve of my other choice of distractions.”
“Screwing the entire female population of the border boroughs won’t help either,” she said tartly. “You need to learn to control your visions.”
“And would you recommend I go groveling to one of the packs or to the Veiled Court for that? Just whose slave should I become, Holly?”
She looked away, mouth twisted. “You’re going to kill yourself.”
“Then I’ll die free.”
“Don’t even say that.” She blinked rapidly, hugging herself, and I cursed under my breath. Holly had lost everyone except for Guy and Reggie and me. I didn’t want to be her next loss.
But nor was I willing to find the type of cure she recommended. My mother had been a whore, selling her body in lieu of any other talents; her life, after my appearance, governed by the demands of Madame Figg and the threat of being cast out into the streets. If I was going to sell myself, then it would be on my own terms and I would be the one to profit from it.
A clatter of wheels and hooves announced the hackney, saving me from having to figure out what the hell to say next. As it pulled up in front of me, the driver looking unrepentant about being so tardy, I touched Holly’s cheek. “I have to go. I’m late.”
“Is it worth telling you to be careful?”
I flashed her a meant-to-be-reassuring grin. “Maybe not, but do it anyway.”
For a moment an answering smile chased away the worry in her eyes before it stole back and her face turned serious again. “Be careful,” she said fiercely.
I nodded, not promising anything, and climbed into the hackney.
Twenty minutes later the hackney drew to a halt. I pushed the leather blind back and peered out. Orpheus Station. Holt’s End, as agreed. Hackneys wouldn’t go any deeper into Beast territory; there was only so much well-trained horses would put up with. Most of them would handle a few Beasts, but being completely surrounded by the stink of predators was too much to ask. The Beasts had their own horses, of course, and Lady alone knew what sort of magic they worked on them to keep them under control, but my driver was human and I couldn’t expect him to work miracles.
I checked my watch again. Five minutes before the bells would ring three and Willem would come looking for me. Just about enough time if I hurried.
I didn’t want to leave the relative safety of the hackney, where the visions had fled, leaving me in peace for the first time all night. But I had little choice. I checked the position of my gun on my hip and the knives beside it and in my boot, then opened the door.
The cabbie wasted no time in urging his horses back toward Mickleskin. I watched him go, then turned in the opposite direction, walking quickly through the night and trying to look not worth messing with. The streets were busy, as they always are in Night World boroughs when the moon is high, but for once my luck held and no one challenged me.
I reached the north side of the high stone wall that surrounded the Krueger Pack House with a few seconds to spare. Willem leaned against the wood and metal gate, near the guardhouse, eyes scanning the street. He pushed away from the wall as I approached.
“You’re on time,” he said. “Wise man.”
“Worried about me? How thoughtful.”
“Worried that I was going to have to waste the rest of the night hunting you down,” he retorted. “I have better things to do. Let’s go, half-breed. The Alpha is waiting.” He gestured me forward and I obeyed, not liking him walking behind me but unable to do anything about it.
I stood back when Willem pushed open the front door, but once again he jerked his chin, waiting for me to go first. I did but I dawdled, trying to delay the inevitable as I stepped across the threshold.
The pack house smelled like Beasts. Sweat. Fur. Musk. Earth.
Danger.
The scent made the hairs on the back of my neck rise, as did the sight of gleaming eyes in the darkness. Beasts change unbidden under the full moon but also shift at will. And they are dangerous on two legs, four legs, or in their hybrid forms.
I kept my eyes on Willem’s back and acted like nothing was bothering me. There might be worse places to appear nervous or weak than a pack house after moonrise, but right now I couldn’t think of one.
The visions stayed under control, which made me think that most of the Beasts must be out in the night. A small mercy at least.
Willem led me down the hall, his boot heels tapping along the floorboards like a drummer beating someone to the gallows. I resisted the urge to loosen my tie. It wasn’t a rope and if anyone was going to hang this evening, it wouldn’t be me.
Mercifully, the next turn of the corridor landed us in front of a familiar door. Solid oak carved with snarling wolf heads, it led to Martin’s reception room. One of my least favorite places in the City. This was where I ended up whenever Martin got the yen to know the future. Tonight was going to be the last time.
Willem opened the door without any sort of announcement. Obviously we were expected.
I crossed the threshold and stopped as close to the door as possible. As always, the room was lit with lanterns rather than gaslights. Their flames flickered rapidly, making the shadows move uneasily. The walls and carpets were a deep dark red, combining to evoke a sensation of the room pressing unpleasantly close around its occupants. Carved wooden screens stood in the corners and along the walls. You could never be sure just what might be lurking behind them, waiting to spill your blood onto the carpets where it wouldn’t show.
Smoke from the lanterns and heavily spiced incense mingled in the air with the Beast smell. It made the atmosphere even more claustrophobic. Other than anyone who might be hidden behind the screens, the room was largely empty. Four Beasts stood in a semicircle behind the desk at its heart. Guerriers protecting their Alpha.
The man sitting behind the desk studied me as I studied him. The guerriers all stared at me too, eyes focused with predatory intent.
I was flattered that they thought it would take four—five if you counted Willem—Beasts to take me down. In reality it would probably only require one. Which Martin well knew. Which meant his display of force was a threat and that he was in no mood to be trifled with.
I wondered if anything in particular was raising his hackles or whether he was just infected with the general jitteriness of the Night World right now. Because he was nervous—that much was clear, even though his expression remained impassive as he beckoned me forward.
I narrowed my eyes. What did Martin Krueger have to be nervous about? It was a pity I couldn’t loosen the chain and see what I could see, but there wasn’t any time for that.
Martin’s face—black hair pulled back from deeply tanned skin that made his green eyes seem very bright—was still as I walked toward him. Yet there was something in the way he held himself that confirmed my instinct. He was definitely uneasy. In Beast form, his hackles would have been rising.
My stomach began its own nervous dance. What exactly was going on here?
Martin’s expression offered no clues. As always, the sight of him made my gut twist with anger. I might be only one-eighth Beast but pack blood runs strong. Looking at Martin, I saw echoes of my own face. My coloring was all Krueger, even if my eyes were a stranger shade of green than any human or Beast ever sported and I lacked the bulky muscles of a Beast. Set amongst the men st
anding here, I looked like a younger brother; one who had some growing to do but who was still undoubtedly blood. No wonder Martin thought he could call me at will like an unruly child. Perhaps it was time to disabuse him of that notion once and for all.
“Martin,” I said, bowing shallowly. No submissive acknowledgment of his superiority, just the minimum respect I could get away with. “You wanted to see me?”
“I wanted to see you several hours ago.”
“As I told Willem, I was otherwise engaged.” I stood my ground. No submission.
“Consorting with the humans. You think they’re going to take you in, a mongrel child like you?” His tone was scornful.
“No,” I said bluntly. “No more than I think you or my father’s family would acknowledge me. What do you want?”
He looked stony, then gestured at the others. “Leave us. Except Willem.”
The guerriers vanished, melting away at the too fast, too graceful pace that always made me see the wolves inside the men far too clearly. I stayed on alert, waiting to see what would happen next.
Martin rose from his desk, came around it. The gun and dagger at my hip suddenly felt too far away. I was fast but not as fast as a Beast.
“What’s this about?” I repeated, putting the edge of a growl into my voice. I was outside his pack, outside his authority. I wasn’t going to roll over and show my belly.
Martin halted, a few feet away from me. “I need some information.”
That much I knew already. “Information about what?” I wasn’t promising anything. I moved my left hand to my hip, nearer my gun.
“About Simon DuCaine.”
Buggering Veil’s eyes. I was the belle of the ball this evening. Everyone wanted to dance with me.
“What makes you think I have any information about Simon DuCaine?” I asked, trying to sound bored.
“Come now, Fen. Your little friend . . . the one who does the dresses, amongst other things”—his voice dropped, lower, edged with a threat—“she is keeping company with his brother. The Templar. And, in the past, it has tended to be true that where the dressmaker goes, there you are.”
