Knight's War: A Witch Detective Urban Fantasy (Alice Skye series Book 5)

by Taylor Aston White

  With a rip she pulled at her t-shirt’s neckline, separating the shoulder seam with little effort. Tugging it over her head she carefully arranged the extra fabric, tucking it in so it created a weird stylised asymmetric design that left her shoulder open. It wasn’t bad, and her wound had space to breathe. Her jacket would cover the rest when needed.

  “Shit,” she muttered to the mirror. Her jacket was in her car. “Bloody hell.”

  Her jeans were still damp after being cleaned in the sink, but not uncomfortably so thanks to the radiator. With her sword strapped over her t-shirt she was set, sort of anyway.

  The climb down the stairs was quiet, as was the hallway and kitchen. Stomach rumbling at the sight of a chocolate muffin on the kitchen counter top Alice walked into the adjoining dining room, following the sound of voices.

  “Coffee?” Riley appeared in the doorway, cup held in his hand.

  Alice made an animalistic sound, stealing the coffee and bringing it to her lips with a moan.

  “Well, good morning, sweetheart,” he said with a deep rumble, a feather light kiss placed on her neck.

  A warmth grew from her gut, and she wasn’t sure whether it was the coffee or not. She had woken up wrapped around Riley like ivy, half draped across his chest with his thigh pushed between her legs. He had stroked down her back, slowly at first before it developed into more. The sex was lazy and slow, the kind where she felt he had given her a full body kiss.

  Someone cleared their throat, loud enough she realised they weren’t alone. Blush burning across her cheekbones she bit her lip, tugging strands of hair behind her head as she observed the room. It was a large study, and every Guardian was present except Jax. Axel and Kace stood in front of six screens and the biggest computer Alice had ever seen at the back. The screens took up the whole back wall while Sythe and Titus placed red pins onto a world map just to the left, concentrating around Russia. Xander stood at the centre table, paperwork and notes piled in front of him. The right was covered in weapons as well as a thick metal door.

  “Morning,” she said, her voice surprisingly strong. “I have to get to work, but I may need a ride.”

  “Sythe recovered your car, he’s made it safe to drive for now,” Riley said as Sythe lifted his head in a nod before returning to the map.

  That fixed her lack of jacket problem.

  “What is this room?”

  “Central control, it’s where we plan everything.”

  “Alice,” Xander greeted as he stepped forward, pale eyes trained on her. “Jax has translated the paperwork.” His gaze moved away, eyebrows pinched before he quickly returned his attention to Alice with a frown.

  “So he figured out what language it was?” Alice asked as Xander handed her the original notes and letters. “Where is Jax?”

  Xander’s eyes flicked to behind her shoulder, the crease deepening between his brows.

  “Xander?” she asked as she checked behind her, but saw nothing but air.

  “Jax has many talents,” Riley answered instead. “One is translation. All the papers depicted different variants of the apocalypse from different eras and languages.”

  “Yes,’ Xander said, shaking his head. “And every story centres around this.” He pushed at the papers until the drawing of a coin appeared, the centre cut out in a diamond. “It’s called a seal.”

  Stomach twisted Alice concentrated on the image, a sweat breaking out across her skin.

  “This seal is what connects you to War, once broken it will ignite an unknown power that has the possibility to tear down the veil between realms.”

  “Because that’s what The Dragon needs, more power,” one of the other guardians muttered, but Alice wasn’t sure which one.

  “From what we’ve studied,” Xander continued, “was that it doesn’t necessarily mean the end of the world, but to renew it.”

  “Renew?”

  “The original Elementals were cursed because they were never supposed to have magic. Not like native magic that originates from here such as druids and shifters. The curse was for the Elementals to wipe the slate clean, to remove the magic that was originally gifted to the chosen humans. But now there are numerous realms, with a veil between them all keeping the balance to help compensate. If the veil fell…”

  “It could destabilise everything,” Riley said.

  Alice crossed her arms. “And what does that mean?”

  Riley and Xander exchanged a look. “We’re not sure.”

  “I wasn’t born just to destroy everything.”

  “You actually were, at least, your family was.” Xander pushed the drawing closer. “Everyone from your bloodline had the same ability and potential.”

  Alice stared at the seal, nausea and discomfort assaulting her stomach. “This seal, what is it?”

  Where was it?

  Riley touched her arm, her hands soft. “We don’t know.”

  “But,” Xander sighed. “It’s what Dread was searching for, and in the end it was one of the reasons he was executed.”

  Chapter 17

  “You’re late,” Brady growled when she finally made it through the barriers. It was rush hour at Kings Cross, the large train station heaving with thousands of tourists and commuters. “The Vic’s been rushed to hospital.”

  “What do you mean the Vic’s been rushed to hospital?” Alice bent beneath the yellow tape, the voices loud and echoing across the station. “I was called because there was a third body.”

  The police had closed off two platforms, both trains stuck on the tracks until they had processed the scene. Cancellations flashed up across the departures display board, creating havoc amongst those waiting.

  “We were called for a body, but first responders found a pulse before we got here.” His eyes dropped to the bite mark, the cream leaving her skin slightly shiny. His attention then dropped to her crudely created top. “So… date with Riley go well last night?” he said with a slightly inquisitive tone.

  He was asking whether she was wearing the same clothes as the night before. She was, but that wasn’t the point. At over six foot four and built like a wrestler Brady looked anything but a gossip. However, Alice knew his wife Michelle was, and she was at home with the new baby.

  “Did you really want me to go home and change?” she said, trying to hide her smirk, but also confirming his suspicion. She wouldn’t really tell him what happened, but she knew it would make his wife happy. Michelle was an amusing character that Alice would call a friend, and if the gossip made her send Alice more baby pictures in exchange for details, then it was worth it.

  Brady grunted. “No, you’re already late. Let’s get back to work.”

  The train on the left had its doors wide open, Jones carefully dusting the buttons on the outside for prints.

  “Our Vic was found around six this morning by a…” Brady flipped through his notepad. “A Miss Cookie Pie, AKA, Beatrice Everette.”

  Alice smiled at the name, not having to ask what Miss Pie’s or even Miss Everette’s occupation was considering King’s Cross, and the connecting station St Pancras was famous for the sheer amount of sex workers.

  “Your black witch is around somewhere, she said something about needing quiet.” Brady looked back towards the crowd. “Not like she’s going to get anywhere quiet here.”

  “It made sense to call her.” Alice had called Kyra as soon as she knew herself, knowing she could be an asset in such a strange case.

  “No, it was the right call,” he nodded. “The Vic had the same M.O. as the previous two. Miss Everette found him sitting in a two seater with a table. The train wasn’t due to leave until seven, and had been there since five forty-five where a total of eighteen passengers passed through the barriers. We’re trying to see if they used their own credit cards or those anonymous train cards.”

  “Partially shifted and wrapped in a woven fabric?”

  “Yes. Miss Everette thought it was an unaccompanied bag and was about to go call for assistanc
e when she noticed the shape.” He flipped the page. “His arms were resting on a laptop on the table, beside a hot coffee.”

  “Because that’s not weird.” Alice frowned. “Aren’t the trains checked?”

  “Usually, yes. An Inspector is supposed to walk the train to make sure no one is left behind.”

  “Usually? So no one did it today? How interesting.”

  “Quite. CCTV is being arranged, but it takes time.”

  Jones shuffled back, his white overalls squeaking. “Train CCTV is atrocious, we’ll be lucky if we can get anything from it.” He carefully placed his equipment into a clear plastic bag and handed it to one of his team members with an uncharacteristic sigh. “Don’t expect much from the scene either, it’s a high footfall area which can mess with the evidence.” His eyes dropped to her top, a smile teasing his lips. “Good thing O’Neil isn’t here, he would be pissed.”

  “Her clothes don’t affect her ability, and at least it’s not the same shirt as the other time.” Brady grunted.

  Jones pulled down his hood and goggles. “You talking about the bees?” he chuckled.

  Alice crossed her arms. “Shut up, we went bowling!”

  O’Neil thought it was a great idea for the team to regularly meet up to ‘bond.’ The last time they went bowling and she wore one of her favourite tops. It had two bees on the front with their faces covered in honey like a sheet. Beneath was the lettering ‘BOO BEES.’

  “Where’s Peyton?” As soon as she mentioned his name a warmth grew from her chest. He had opened their connection. She immediately found him towards the centre hub, his notepad out as he tried to talk to a few witnesses. His frustration spread through her, tingling the wild magic within.

  The city was one of the most multi-cultural places in the world, and both stations connected London to other parts of the country, as well as France, Brussels and The Netherlands. It made the area full of tourists, which meant many language barriers.

  “If you would excuse me.” Jones waved as he approached Peyton and the older Chinese couple, speaking quietly. After a few minutes the couple sat back down, calmer.

  Jones shrugged when he moved back towards the train, mumbling something about his grandmother as he continued to process the scene.

  “Alice,” Peyton frowned as he joined them. “You read the news this morning?”

  “No, I’ve barely had time to brush my teeth.” Her phone went off at six-thirty, but she had been too busy to hear it.

  He unfolded a page, ripped from the morning’s newspaper. “Take a look.”

  Author Freya Wilson reclaims her title as bestseller after a decade of flops. Blood of the Moon is setting records across the globe gaining accolades everywhere from the United Kingdom, United States to Australia six months after its initial release. Must be a shock to Hellfire Publishing House who had only recently terminated her contract.

  The article read beside a picture of Freya herself grinning outside her house, book clutched to her chest.

  “Wait, she was dropped from her publisher? I wonder why she never mentioned that?” Alice handed back the paper. “Guess the copycat is boosting her sales.”

  Peyton hadn’t closed their connection, the warmth familiar yet strange at the same time. She felt him in her very essence, which meant he probably felt her too. It’s what she assumed being soul-bound with someone would be like, except their connection wasn’t out of love.

  “What you thinking?” Peyton moved closer, her wild magic electric as it recognised him. He still had the fabric in his pocket, Alice could sense it.

  “I’m thinking she knows more than she’s letting on.” As did Peyton.

  Brady clicked his neck, facing them with a frown. “There is no connection between the homicides and Freya Wilson.”

  “Doesn’t mean she doesn’t know more,” Alice shrugged.

  “You’re right, and if we go by the book this is only the third victim of eight.”

  “Eight?” Peyton frowned. “Why eight?”

  Brady shrugged. “It’s not explained why, but the eight are over the space of one month.”

  “Shit,” Alice muttered. That was a lot of homicides.

  A soft voice came out of the train, talking to Jones. Kyra stepped down, her dark hair tightly braided, brown skin ashen.

  “The spell doesn’t originate from witches,” she said with confidence, chin tipped up as she spoke to Brady. “I believe the process is Fae in origin, and then been adapted by a black witch.”

  Alice looked towards Peyton, who hesitated before confirming. “She’s right. It’s definitely Fae, but as of yet I’m not sure what.”

  Brady seemed surprised at his verification. “Anything else?”

  Peyton cut off their connection, her heart immediately aching at the loss.

  She shot him a warning look.

  “Whoever is doing this is forcing them to shift,” Kyra continued, voice soft considering her words. “Then skinning them in their half-form. It took me some time but I remembered years ago I researched the process. It’s one of the old ways that’s been banned, even amongst approved dark witches.”

  “Why would they want to do that?” Peyton asked. “Skin them in half-form?”

  “The old ways would use the skin in many incantations and potions. There was also some skin-walkers who could shapeshift when they wore the skins. But skin-walkers are all but forgotten this side of the world.”

  “The skins aren’t worn, they’re used to create the fabric they’re wrapped in.”

  Brady adjusted his blazer. “Then why…”

  “Shifters have an amazing ability to heal and pause aging,” Alice interrupted, remember the wolves only the day before.

  Kyra frowned. “Pause ageing?”

  “Shifters age slowly,” Alice answered. “It’s like they stop ageing at thirty.” They didn’t actually stop aging, but it was hard to tell their true age until they were in their last section of life which was around two-hundred. Poor fertility was relatively common amongst Breed, especially compared to humans who in return had a shorter lifespan. Even witches, who were the closest in DNA lived to on average one-hundred and fifty.

  “Pauses ageing?” Peyton parroted, head shifted off to the side. “It pauses ageing.”

  “Peyton, what do you...” the words died in her mouth.

  “Hey, you okay?” Kyra nudged her bare arm, her hands ice cold.

  Alice shook her off. “Erm…”

  Chester stood amongst a few people curiously glancing over the police tape, his red hair blazing beneath the LEDs. He faced her, lip tipped in a smirk.

  “If you would excuse me, I’ll be right back.” Alice moved automatically towards him, her gaze quickly taking towards the surrounding crowd. Chester’s handler wasn’t there. “Fuck!” She bent beneath the tape, pushing past the crowd into the very busy central hub. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

  It took her a few seconds to find him once again, the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on edge at the smile that arched his lips, the emotion fake and not reaching his eyes. As soon as he caught her attention he moved, walking down a tunnel full of children on a school trip.

  “Hello again,” he nodded his head in greeting, green eyes bright. “I don’t have long.”

  “Chester,” Alice croaked, sweat dripping down her neck. “What are you doing here?”

  The children chattered amongst themselves, lined up against the station tiles as the teacher studied the train map.

  His eyes widened as his smile stretched his cheeks. It made her think of a doll. A lifeless doll. “You remembered my name,” he said with an uncomfortable innocence that resembled the children around them. “Do you want to play?”

  “How’s your balls?” She remembered well how she used his own anatomy against him.

  His face hardened, jaw clenched. “You broke my nose last time.” His hand went into his long trench coat.

  Shit.

  The children shuffled around, impatient.<
br />
  She needed Chester to remain calm, especially as he was so unpredictable.

  “Are you alone?” she asked, trying to get him to move. Her own hand itched to go for her blade which was strapped to her back, partially hidden beneath her hair. The black straps were tied around one shoulder and her waist, the damaged shoulder bare.

  “Oh my, is that a sword?” One of the school children pointed. “Can I touch it?”

  “Wow!”

  “Can I have a go?”

  “Are you a police man?”

  “No idiot, she’s a police woman!” The children chattered.

  A teacher shooshed them, moving them along when she noticed Alice and Chester’s stand-off.

  Alice could hear a train coming, which meant the tunnel wouldn’t be quiet for long as she already noticed a rush of people approaching.

  “What are you doing here, Chester?” she repeated. “Has something changed?”

  “I said I wanted to play.” He pouted. “But I can’t play, can I? But I’ve been told soon.” He brought out a knife, the end sharp. He kept it close to his hip, beneath the eyeline of the passing commuters. “You need to find it first.”

  “Find what?” Alice asked as she stepped back, hoping he would follow. He was unpredictable, and with easy reach of a lot of innocents.

  Confusion creased his brow. As soon as there was a clearing he jumped, the knife flashing as he rushed forward. Alice let him come close, her arm coming up to knock his hand as it slashed against her chest.

  “I can’t wait to cut your pretty little face up,” he whispered, his arm pinned before he pulled free.

  Alice hit out, slamming him against the white tiles as she tried to disarm the knife. People bumped into them, making it harder to hold as they scrambled for control. She was nudged, pushed just as Chester thrust the knife once again.

  “Fuck!” She dodged, barely. The knife scraped down a tile, cracking it.

  “This is fun.” With a heavy boot he kicked, his foot connecting to her stomach with enough momentum she slid across the floor. People jumped out of the way, swearing and muttering at the inconvenience.