Wrath & Bones (The Marnie Baranuik Files Book 4)

by A. J. Aalto

  We were about to find out. The shadows of the cliffs at Svikheimslending began to dance forward through the fog and unbroken Arctic twilight, but it was not the cliffs and strongholds I focused on. At the end of the pier, a single figure stood in the mist. Ramrod-straight under a top hat, his long, dark cape swirling in the soft wind, his walking stick propped at just such an angle as to cast an elegant silhouette, very aware of the fine first impression he would make, a solitary figure waited. He waited for me. Judging by the hunger that suddenly avalanched through our Bond, I knew he’d been waiting there for hours.

  Declan elbowed me gently and said, “He sure enjoys his drama, doesn’t he?”

  Despite the queasy dread mixing with anticipation and anxiety in my belly, I felt my lips curl up until my smile nearly hurt, and wondered flickeringly if that's what extending one's fangs felt like. “That he does.”

  Chapter 3 5

  He was standing at the very end of the pier, away from the shelter of cliffs, cargo containers, or the carriage house, where he no doubt felt the chill right down to his bones; like all revenants, Harry was forever shrouded in death’s chill touch, and the winter air just made that worse. Still, there he was, waiting for his pet’s return, shuddering with discomfort but as desperate for my company as I was for his. Probably, he couldn’t wait to yell at me. My heavy heart swelled at the sight of my Cold Company, and as we closed the distance between ship and shore, our Bond strummed with excitement. His flashing chrome eyes pierced the gloom. When the ship pulled forward to dock, he was no longer alone; human servants scuttled out of the shadows with ropes and mooring lines. Still, as he stepped aside to allow them space to do their job and milled between them as a deft shadow among the lively workers, he was quite alone, the only thing I could focus on, and furthermore, he knew it. He set his chin high, his gaze expectant, padding forward at his own pace; I knew beneath the cloak, he’d be wearing his favorite tux, the white shirt with the mother of pearl buttons, and if he was wearing underwear at all, they’d have cartoon superheroes on them. I knew this because I’d bought the only underwear he ever wore, and I thought the Marvel Comic ones were cute as a button on his tight little tushie.

  When Rask finally informed me that the gangplank was down, I couldn’t get off the ship fast enough, hauling my weighty go-bag with all my treasures. Declan was hot on my heels, though when we approached Harry, Irish hung back, giving us a moment of privacy.

  Up close, the ache of the Bond was almost scary in its strength. Though I hit the pier at a run, my Keds slapping loudly, I slowed up when I got to Harry, unsure of how soon the tirade would start. I considered an apology, but how does one apologize for such a cavalcade of fuck ups?

  Harry’s thrice-pierced brow shot up inquiringly. “Well, come now, ducky, don’t make me beg.” His arms swept open and I piled into them with a joyful laugh that was almost a sob. He folded me into his embrace securely and chuckled against my hair as he planted a solid kiss on the top of my head. “Have you at last tired of your international ganderflanking and larking about, my wondermentress?”

  I couldn’t be bothered teasing him about his old timey English. I just nodded against his chest. Harry’s entire body quivered with a shudder that I thought had nothing much to do with the cold weather and everything to do with reconnection and relief. “Hush now, you silly thing, you’re home now and quite safe,” he said, his voice low. “Such a fuss you make.”

  “And you, Dr. Edgar.” Harry cleared something thick in his throat. “You have returned unto me my frolicking filly and, most surprisingly, she seems to be in one piece. What a perfectly grueling task that must have been. How can I ever thank you, my quill driver?”

  “To be honest, Lord Dreppenstedt,” Declan said, “we’re cold, and exhausted, and though we’ve just eaten, I am ravenous for more, and a bottle of your finest would go a long way to seeing me cheered. Is Master Malas within?”

  “He is sitting with Prince Wilhelm tonight at dinner, and as I understand it, you are most welcome to join them this evening,” Harry said. “Come, let us warm you and see to your headache. Surely, Rapture of the Blood has made you merry with withdrawal. I say, what the devil is this?”

  When his arms fell away from me, I turned to see Captain Rask standing on the pier, politely waiting his turn to speak. Declan stepped aside and I Felt Harry stiffen with confusion.

  “This is new,” Harry said, cocking his head to one side, picking up some subtle clue that I could not. “My dove, what have you done, here?”

  “Uh…” I smiled warily. “Not much. You know. Just… alliance stuff.” Inside, I died a little bit, since I was entirely, unrepentantly, unremittingly for the Horde when I played World of Warcraft. I assuaged my guilt by reminding myself that I'd totally just done an epic loot retrieval quest that began with an orc NPC.

  Harry’s lips drew into a tight line. “You have spoken to House Rask on behalf of House Dreppenstedt on forging an alliance that would see our good captain back at court?”

  “Did I?” I breathed a soft laugh. “Gosh, all this formal mumbo-jumbo can wait. I’ve got stuff to– ” I started to walk off and Harry’s quick, pale hand caught the cape of my coat to stall my forward motion. I ended up marching in place like a wind-up toy soldier; for fun, I really put my arms into it, knees up, serious business.

  “I am fairly certain — and please do correct me if I am mistaken — that I gave you explicit instructions as to when you ought not speak on behalf of the house?” Harry said with a questioning lilt in his crisp Londoner’s tongue.

  “Uh, that’d be never,” I said with an understanding nod. “Never speak for the house.”

  “Certainly, you must have realized that House Rask was at one time allied with House Sarokhanian,” Harry told me with deceiving pleasantness.

  Declan swallowed hard. “Which might explain why House Sarokhanian holds the Batten family line in such low esteem.”

  Erasmus. Rask’s first Younger, staked by Colonel Jack Batten. Sarokhanian hadn’t just been defending himself against Batten’s grandfather, he had been avenging the loss of the entire Rask line when he took Jack Batten.

  “I knew that,” I scoffed. “You know, you’ve been prone to tantrums ever since I bought you those tighty-whities with the Hulk on them. Superhero Underoos are not for everyone, Harry. With great gitchies comes great responsibility.”

  Harry’s eyebrow twitched as he continued, “And by allying yourself with Mr. Rask, here, you have not only invited him to court as our friend, you have officially linked House Dreppenstedt with House Sarokhanian through him.”

  “Oh. Right.” I chewed the inside of my mouth in thought. “Uh, isn’t that a good thing? You know, you can all thank me about helping old dead guys bury the hatchet later. I’ve got junk to deliver and a troll to shoo away and an undead damsel in distress to, uh, raise and re-stress? Un-stress? De-distress?” I shot Declan a questioning look and he nodded.

  “De-distress sounds right, Dr. B.”

  “And I’m probably already late, Harry. I’ve got—“

  “Oh, you’ve time for this, love,” Harry assured me. “The Overlord does not expect you to appear before him until tomorrow.”

  I gaped. “I’m on time? Declan, we’re on time.”

  “With hours to spare,” Declan said, and his shoulders went limp with relief. “Time for some good wine and a warm bath.”

  Harry moved past me in an elegant sweep toward Captain Rask, leaving me in his cool, immortal wake. It was difficult to tell where the frigid mist ended and the shroud of the revenant began as it purled around my ankles. When he approached the elder revenant, I felt both of their powers stir as they tasted one another’s Talents and tested each other’s reach; eyes flashed and fangs elongated, politely hidden in tightly closed mouths, and in the gathering clouds that blanketed the star-swept sky, there was a warning groan from the ship's timbers as Rask’s power yawned awake, a leviathan stretching from a centuries-long nap.

  Ha
rry stopped short, lifted his top hat off his sandy hair, and performed an unexpected bow, so low that his gloved hand brushed the cement pier. When he straightened, he popped the hat back on his head and said warmly, “Welcome home, Master Rask. I owe you a great debt of gratitude for sparing my DaySitter your valuable time and consideration. I should be pleased if you would call upon me for anything you might require as you readjust to life at court.”

  Rask’s frosty eyes peered out of his pale, straight hair as it drifted across his lined face. “In nature, the raven devours the worm.”

  Harry smiled pleasantly to acknowledge this, careful not to flash fang. “In nature, the raven devours whatever he pleases. But the lindwyrm has a venomous bite. I doubt a clever raven would choose such a dangerous meal. And upon the raven's demise, might not the worm feast on its corpse?”

  “Are you two making friends or making threats?” I asked. “Hard to tell with revenants.”

  Harry shot me a smirk over his shoulder. “If you would kindly excuse us, Captain Rask, I should take this scatty scamp inside and get her fed and watered, or she’ll be no use to anyone.”

  “And by water, you mean wine, right Lord Dreppenstedt?” Declan said hopefully.

  I smiled a temporary goodbye to the captain, who nodded. “Until tomorrow, then, Dr. Baranuik,” Rask rumbled, and disappeared back to his ship.

  Harry waited until Rask had gone before leading us to a waiting carriage-style car. He tapped the glass once, lightly, with the head of his cane and settled beside me in his seat with a furrowed brow. “Now, perhaps you’d care to tell me what you’ve done to your arm? Let’s take a look at that new wound, shall we, my pet?”

  As if hearing itself being addressed, the werefox bite on my right forearm throbbed and the whole arm lit up with pain. I tried to side-step. “You must be so hungry, Harry. I don’t imagine there are freezers for bags of O-neg.”

  “Not as such,” Harry replied. “Your arm?”

  “Did you…” I frowned. He was hungry for me, but not nearly as ravenous as I expected him to be. “Did you feed? Did Tara feed you?”

  “Firstly, my pet, I shall ask you if you truly believe that jealousy is the appropriate response here, considering you left me with no alternative,” Harry clipped. “Secondly, of course I did not indulge in Tara’s veins, though I assure you the offer was made the minute I was released from my alabaster prison and she sensed my need. Oh, how she jumped at the chance to serve me.”

  “I just bet she did,” I muttered.

  “But you must allow that I know my pet’s heart,” Harry said, clasping my right wrist and indicating that I should roll up my sleeves for him. “I knew it would displease you deeply if I indulged in Tara’s persistent offers, so one I declined, no matter how persistently and creatively she made them.”

  Carole Jeanne? My heart thundered into my throat in a Bond-driven horror of insecurity. “Oh no,” I whispered.

  “Would you kindly stop that?” Harry said uncomfortably, struggling to block my alarm while his lips twisted in a pained expression. “As it may be, it was Jane who offered a wrist, and I calculated that she would be the least objectionable solution to my temporary needs. Does that comfort you?”

  It did. That I could handle. “Remind me to thank her. And maybe buy her some flowers.”

  “Flowers could not make a trip to Svikheimslending, my darling, but the sentiment will be appreciated. Perhaps a nice silk arrangement? I’ll see what I can find in London. Now, stop stalling, if you please, and show me your wound.”

  “It should be okay,” I said. “See, there’s this elixir stuff…”

  “Is that what I smell?” Harry’s lips twisted into an unhappy moue. “Sickly sweet, with ale and fur and death and dancing. Dr. Edgar, who or what has injured my pet so?”

  Declan had seen Harry’s agitation and aggression before, and he’d handled it like a boss, speaking calmly as my revenant came close to flipping his shit in my kitchen. This time, he offered an openhanded shrug. “Want a list?”

  The carriage car pulled up in front of Felstein and we got out.

  “Whatever have you done to yourself, ducky? You smell quite off. Come.” Ever the gentleman, Harry offered me his arm. In taking it, I forgot all about the night wind, my recent scraps, and my upcoming fight. His gloved hand patted mine, and his all-seeing eyes caught mine, snagging them in momentary preternatural rapture. “I cannot help but notice that we are missing someone of consequence, Dearheart. You do not think that warrants some explanation?”

  I opened my mouth to explain, but found I didn’t have the words. I had no idea where Batten was, only that he had taken my coins and could be here on the island. He could also have gone home, or, given that I hadn’t seen him in days, he could literally be anywhere in the world. Furthermore, I couldn’t be sure why he was gone, as his only explanation had been “I’m out.” Harry read all this in my eyes and our Bond without showing the slightest surprise, but plenty of disappointment.

  “Come, my only one. And you, Dr. Edgar,” he said softly, leading us toward Felstein. He opened the large front door for us politely. “Let us find you both warm baths and food and rest. We will speak more on this subject when you are properly fortified.”

  ***

  Word got around quickly that we were back. I had barely finished my bubble bath and wrapped up in a robe when both Jane and Junior arrived at our chamber door. Declan was resting on my bed with a glass of red wine. Junior entered without knocking; he had a pile of clean, dry clothing in his arms. He dropped them on Harry’s bed and then padded toward me across the ancient carpet in a cat-like swagger, eyes flashing chrome. I resisted the urge to smirk at his itty bitty vampire act, though he reminded of Wes and his inability to control his fangs and his eyes and a dozen other immortal reactions. Junior’s empathy picked up my amusement and lack of fear and he switched tactics, swiping the corner of his mouth with a lusty tongue to show off his extended fangs. They weren’t nearly as small as I expected them to be, his being new dead. I blinked rapidly in surprise as he approached, giving him the head-to-toe inspection with fresh appreciation. He liked this; I felt a ripple of arousal in the room that made my heart skip ahead. It was not unpleasant, but it was going nowhere, so I ignored it. Homeboy might like the cut of my jib, but he wasn't taking me for a pleasure cruise.

  I lifted my chin and challenged him by meeting his gaze directly. This one was too young to have his own DaySitter, so I wondered who fed him. A strange urge, brought on by my loyalty to the house, bubbled up from the depths of my Bond to Harry, the urge to nurture, shelter, and please a member of the House and line. When it hit me, he knew this, too. Excited, Junior's pupils expanded rapidly and I smelled the snap-spark of his undead magic stirring to life. I chuckled and shook my head slowly back and forth.

  “Are you attempting to seduce the DaySitter of your bloodkin, Spanky?” I asked him, daring him to continue with a little smile. “How do you think that will end?”

  His gaze dropped to my carotid artery helplessly and he let out a little husky sound, like a young lion in the savanna.

  “Check that walk, honey,” I advised. “You’re adorable, but I’m not offering you a willing feed, I’m not down to fuck, and you're not made of brownies, so you should probably fuck off before you get swatted.”

  Jane hovered by the door uncertainly. She dropped off her tray of food and coffee, sliding it onto the long dresser. I’d never heard her voice before. It was soft and high, that of a small child. “Lord Dreppenstedt insists that you should eat all your carrots, ma’am.”

  Junior shot her a look that said she was being a giant cockblock, and Jane fled the room. Declan remained sitting; he was confident that I could handle Junior and I appreciated that. I also knew that if I had a moment’s trouble, the dhampir would be off that bed like a shot. My assistant had my back.

  Instead of launching at me, Junior moved to the dresser and poured me a coffee. He offered me a cup in his right hand, supporting
his forearm with his left hand. It seemed significant in the solemn way he did it, so I nodded in thanks and took it.

  “Is this your way of saying ‘welcome home'? It needs some work,” I told him.

  “You smell terrible,” Junior told me.

  “You look terrible,” I lied. He smelled my fib and smiled.

  “You smell like wet dog.”

  “It’s probably just my flea shampoo.” I shrugged. “Gives me a glossy coat.”

  Junior said quietly, “I heard a rumor. They say you staked Jeremiah Prost. They say you left his ashes in Egypt, where the sand will swallow them.”

  I picked up a thread of Junior’s disgust and shame, and felt my eyes widen. “I’m… sorry?”

  Declan spoke up. “It was self defense, and a legal staking. Our Second had an international warrant.”

  Junior ignored him. He was looking at me as though choosing his words carefully. Finally, he offered, “You have done a good thing. I thank you for it.” He showed himself out.

  I blinked rapidly at Declan. “Well, that was unexpected.”

  “One for the books,” he agreed, and tipped his head at his go-bag. I wondered if he was still writing; he’d once left a rough draft of his autobiography Life in Limbo: The Story of the Dhampir at my cabin after he’d taken off with Malas. He wanted us to read it, to know him. He kept his own story, but also the stories of many other revenants. It was a truly fascinating read, though, to be honest, his style was text-book dry. The undead apparently had time for a shitload of footnotes. “So, the Overlord expects us tomorrow with our — your — rescue-artifacts. What do we do tonight?”

  “Can we just… not?” I gazed longingly at the bed and wished I had zero plans beyond feeding my Cold Company, drinking a few boozed-up espressos, and having a solid snooze. I knew that was foolish. It would be wiser to fetch Remy from her Darkest Corner now, before too many people knew we were here, in case they were still plotting ambushes and mounting countermeasures to our victory. I didn't trust that Sayomi had decided to let up, and wasn’t sure that saving Georgina Harris from a feral revenant had bought me a reprieve. I was hoping so, but I wouldn’t like to get out to the coastline and find a bunch of DaySitters and their Seconds conspiring to block me. I also didn’t want to show up at the coast and find the troll scout’s ship already rolling out of the fog. We needed Remy freed, the sooner the better.