Blackbird Rising (The Witch King's Crown Book 1)

by Keri Arthur

  “I can’t help what is part of my nature.” I stripped off my jacket; I couldn’t risk Tris recognizing it. I might not have worn it too often unless we’d gone riding, but he knew well enough I didn’t own my own bike and would wonder who I’d come here with. “How are we going to play this once the drug takes effect?”

  “If I’ve the dose right, he should simply fall asleep.”

  “Someone suddenly falling asleep in the middle of conversation will attract attention.” My voice was dry. “And what happens if, once he feels drowsy, he decides to leave?”

  “Then I’ll follow.” He briefly grabbed my hand, his fingers so warm against mine. “This will work. Trust me.”

  I did trust him. I just didn’t trust the fact that things would go the way we wished them to.

  But I squeezed his fingers in appreciation and then headed across the road, weaving through the morning crowd until I got to the corner. After briefly scanning the entire area, I turned right. A few seconds later, the crowd briefly parted, and I spotted Tris. He wore a hoodie, dark jeans, and old boots, all of which were caked with grime, and he walked with his head down and his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looked … different. Defeated, somehow.

  Or maybe that was imagination at work again.

  I took another of those deep breaths that did little to calm the inner butterflies and then strode toward him. When I was close enough, I said, adding a touch of disbelief in my voice, “Tris? Is that you?”

  His head shot up, and an odd mix of consternation and pleasure raced across his expression. What lingered after, however, was a decided frostiness.

  “Gwen? What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I was just about to ask you the same question.”

  I stopped an arm’s distance from him—close enough to see the utter tiredness in his dirt-smudged face. Close enough to see his clothes were damp, and to smell the mix of sweat and earth on him. The latter had me wondering who he’d been with—and what they’d been up to—given Tris didn’t have the Chen ability to move or control earth.

  “Had a night job.”

  “It’s not exactly night now, my friend.”

  He grimaced, but his gaze remained on mine and was filled with suspicion. “Which is why I’m now heading back to the Plaza and bed. What about you?”

  “Mo wanted to visit a friend,” I said. “I’m playing chauffeur for the day.”

  He scanned the immediate area with narrowed eyes. “She’s obviously not near here.”

  “No—she’s at Betty’s.” My smile felt forced; I hoped he didn’t notice. “The last thing I wanted was to listen to them gasbagging about the past, so I left them to it. I haven’t been to Nottingham before, so it’s a good chance to look around.”

  “Betty’s living here now?”

  “Well, if she wasn’t, we’d hardly be here, would we?” I waved a hand toward Costa’s. “Would you like to join me for cake, or do you have to be somewhere? Like a shower?”

  He didn’t react to the—perhaps a little forced—amusement in my question. “It’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it?”

  “What is?” I hoped like hell he couldn’t hear the rapid pounding of my heart. It seemed abnormally loud to me. “Me asking you for cake?”

  “More the fact that you’re here in Nottingham the same time as I am, and walking past the same Costa.”

  “Meaning what? That I deliberately sought you out?” I snorted. “Seriously, Tris, I’m not that desperate to sleep with you again.”

  “We both know that Mo is more than capable of getting anywhere she desires under her own steam, so why would she ask you to drive her?”

  “She’s ninety-five, Tris, and she recently broke her goddamn leg.” I threw up my hands and stepped back. “But fine, don’t fucking believe me. I’ll just go get myself some cake, and you can take your foul-smelling clothes and your goddamn suspicions back to your hotel room alone.”

  I spun and strode toward the door, my heart racing and all mental fingers crossed that I hadn’t taken things a step too far.

  For too many seconds, I thought I had.

  But as I reached for the door, he grabbed my arm and stopped me. “I’m sorry. It’s been a shit night. If you can stand the grime and the smell, coffee and cake would be great.”

  I raised my eyebrows. The last thing I actually needed was to go inside before Luc had darted him. “Are you sure? Because, seriously, if you’re going to be all grumpy and taciturn, I’d rather eat alone. I’m not in the mood for your nonsense right now.”

  “I’m sorry. Really, I am. A decent cup of coffee with an old friend will definitely be an improvement over—” He cut the rest of the sentence off and slapped at his back. “Fuck, something just bit me.”

  Thank god for that. I forced a note of amusement into my voice. “What?”

  “I don’t fucking know. Probably one of the goddamn beetles that were crawling all over the place.” He turned around. “Can you see anything on my back?”

  “Something other than the six-inch tarantula crawling down your spine, you mean?”

  “I’m being serious here.”

  “And you think I’m not?”

  “Gwen, please. It’s burning.”

  Which suggested he might be having a reaction to whatever drug Luc had used on the dart. If he was, then it was likely he’d leave sooner rather than later. “Stop fidgeting and let me check.”

  He immediately did so. I pressed my fingers across his shoulders, and then down his spine, covertly removing and pocketing the small dart in the process. “There’s really nothing here, Tris.”

  “Are you sure it’s not a damn beetle?” He half turned. “Because it felt—”

  The rest of his words cut off and moisture sprayed across my face. I frowned and wiped at it, and saw, in a moment of utter horror, that it was blood. My gaze jerked back to Tris; I saw the hole in his head, and the blood, and bits of bone and god knows what else oozing from it.

  He’d been shot—and killed—between one word and another.

  Ten

  He didn’t collapse. Not immediately. He simply stood there, his expression … odd.

  Then, without sound, he crumpled to the ground at my feet.

  For several seconds, I didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

  I just stared at the man who’d been both friend and lover as his blood dripped from my chin.

  A scream rent the air.

  Not mine, though part of me certainly wanted to.

  Another joined it, and the crowd surrounding us swelled. As a man pushed past me with a curt “I’m a doctor,” I somehow reined in my horror and disbelief and stepped back through the immediate press of people. I couldn’t save Tris, but I could certainly catch his murderer … if I was fast enough.

  I scanned the buildings on the other side of the road. The shot must have come from up high, because if anyone had produced a handgun in a crowded street, there would have been reactions. And if the shooter had been a passerby, they surely would have done a body shot rather than head—it might not have killed him instantly, but it would have been safer.

  I couldn’t see anything untoward on either the rooftops or in the windows of the building opposite, but would I, if this was a professional hit?

  A hand clamped my wrist, and I reacted instinctively, reaching across to grab my assailant’s pinkie and use it as a lever, twisting his whole hand up and around. The soft curse that followed had me quickly releasing.

  Luc.

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “My fault.” Though his voice was flat, anger practically vibrated from every pore. Not at me, but rather the situation, I suspected. “I should have learned the first time. This way.”

  I followed him out of the still-gathering crowd. “Did you see where the shot came from?”

  “No, but the trajectory suggests the other side of the square. Can you scout?”

  “Yes, but wouldn’t they be gone by now?”

  “Probably, b
ut we still have to try. If you see anything suspicious, wait for me. Don’t go in alone.”

  I nodded and, after a quick look around to see if anyone was paying attention, shifted shape and flew skywards. Pigeons scattered as my shadow raced across them, filling the sky with a cloud of gray. They briefly obscured my vision but ultimately saved my life; the bird in front of me exploded into a bloody mass of bone and feathers.

  I swerved sharply and arrowed toward the bus shelters lining the side road. I’d barely reached the first one when its glass exploded; as the glittering shards cut through the air, people screamed and ran. I rose, keeping close to the underside of the building’s awning, hoping that, despite my light plumage, it would be more difficult for the shooter to spot me. The back of another bus shelter disintegrated, and just for an instant, I spotted something glinting in a dormer on the top floor of the department store across the road. The shooter, either shifting position or leaving.

  A third shelter was shot out. Any minute now, a bullet might do to me what it did to that pigeon … I forced the fear down and concentrated on getting out of his range as quickly as possible.

  I reached the end of the building and climbed skyward, fear so thick in my throat I could barely breathe. No shots chased after me.

  Either I was now out of sight or he’d left.

  I swept over the department store’s roof, saw the dormer window, open and empty, and arrowed in fast—only to slam beak first into a net that had been stretched across the back of the dormer. I crashed to the floor, the shock reverberating through my body forcing a change into human form. For too many seconds, I simply lay there, the netting wrapped tightly around my body, making it difficult to move, to breathe, even as I waited for a bullet to tear through my skull as easily as it had Tris’s.

  The kill never came.

  Even as relief stirred, fear rose. The mere fact that a net had been strung across this window meant he’d been prepared to counter a shifter … but how could he have even known I’d be here?

  How, how, how?

  The sharp sound of retreating footsteps dragged my attention back.

  The shooter … he couldn’t be allowed to escape.

  I sucked in a deep breath, then flicked my knife down into my hand and quickly cut the net from my limbs. Once free, I reached for the shifting magic again and then paused. Flight might be faster, but as a blackbird I couldn’t open doors, and surely the first thing the shooter would do was head into the store and get lost in the crowd.

  I thrust upright and ran through the dusty, box-filled room. After punching through a set of swinging exit doors, I paused, head cocked as I listened for the footsteps. They were coming from the nearby set of stairs, heading down just as I’d guessed.

  I raced after him, taking the steps two and three at a time, my speed reckless. Two flights down, the sound of footsteps was lost under the babble of noise now coming from the store, but on the next landing, an exit door swung lightly. I went through hard and crashed into two men standing on the other side. We tumbled to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs and I swore, fighting to get free. They yelled at me, grabbed at me, trying to stop me from escaping. Guards, I realized, as I elbowed one in the gut and punched the other in the balls. As twin “oomphs” of pain echoed, I scrambled to my feet and quickly looked around. I couldn’t see anyone suspicious—couldn’t see anyone carrying anything that vaguely resembled a concealed gun.

  I grabbed the guard still clutching his vitals and unceremoniously hauled him upright. “Did someone else come through this door a few seconds before me?”

  “No,” he wheezed, “and you’d best—”

  I pushed him back with enough force to unbalance him again and returned to the stairwell, pounding down the stairs to the next level. Another quick scan didn’t reveal anyone who tweaked my instincts.

  I continued on, repeating the check on each subsequent floor. By the time I crashed through the last set of doors, the guards were on my tail and I’d basically given up any hope of finding the assassin.

  I spotted Luc striding through the main doors and walked toward him, my hands raised. “Yes, I disobeyed orders, and yes, I’ve lost him. Sorry.”

  “I’m not surprised by either event.” He plucked a piece of string from my arm, his expression concerned. “Netting?”

  “It was strung across the window.”

  “Meaning he’d been prepared for the presence of a shifter. Interesting.”

  “I’d say it was more alarming.”

  “Yes, if only because it suggests we have a leak somewhere along the pipeline.”

  “If there is one, it has to be your side. There’s only three of us, and we don’t leak.”

  A smile flirted with his lips despite the seriousness that remained in his eyes, but it fell quickly away as his gaze moved past me. It was only then I became aware of the commotion. I half turned; the two guards I’d knocked down raced toward us. Others were coming in from the left and the right.

  Luc calmly reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his wallet, and produced a badge. “Sorry for the commotion caused, gentlemen—Officer De Montfort was chasing a suspect in a shooting. He was located on your top floor.”

  The guard’s anger turned to horror. “We knew something had happened given all the police and ambulances, but we had no idea—”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to,” Luc intervened smoothly. “Is that floor in everyday use?”

  The most senior-looking of the guards shook his head. “It’s storage only—”

  “Good. I want guards placed on all exits to and from that level, to ensure no one goes up there until my colleague—” He paused and glanced around as his name was called. “Ah, here he is now. Gwen, do you want to go clean up while I update Dan?”

  Dan, I noted, was one of the Preternatural Division men who’d been at Gareth’s. After grabbing directions from one of the guards, I departed for the bathroom, where I discovered that not only was my face smeared with blood and tiny fragments of feathers and bone but also my hair. I bent over the sink and did my best to rinse both. Thankfully, the hand dryers were the old-fashioned type, which meant I could at least duck my head under one and use my fingers to help dry my hair. Which made it frizzy, but that was far better than having bits of pigeon and Tris—

  I savagely cut off the rest of that thought and headed out.

  Luc leaned against a nearby wall, his arms crossed. “At least you no longer look like something the cat hacked up.”

  “I’m not entirely sure that’s a compliment.”

  “Best I can do on short notice. Here—” He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pink hairband. “You might want to use this to restrain the mane.”

  I accepted it with a smile and quickly used it to restore some order. “And what would you be doing with pink hairbands in your pockets?”

  “I’ve a younger sister who believes a brother’s pockets are designed to carry all the small necessities. I’ve discovered quite a number of tampons and lipsticks in various pockets over the years.” He caught my elbow and guided me toward the nearby exit. “Dan will look after the situation here. We’ve got other leads to chase.”

  “Did he give you that badge you’re carrying?”

  “No—Jason did last night. It’s a temporary badge given to the specialists they call in for a set job. Saves constantly having to clear their presence with the regular force.”

  “Which leads on to my next question—how on earth did Dan arrive here so fast?”

  “He’s one of the extra guards who was called in to protect the heir living here.”

  The wind swirled around us as we left the building. I shivered, even though I wasn’t really cold. Luc shifted his grip from my elbow to my fingers; while the warmth of his touch didn’t really do much to battle the inner chill, it was nevertheless comforting—as it was no doubt meant to be.

  The street in which Tris had died was now cordoned off, and there was a multitude of police cars
and ambulances surrounding the Costa building.

  I swallowed the bile and grief that rose and tried to concentrate on the job at hand rather than the specter of death. “I take it there’re still people guarding the heir? Because this might just be an over-the-top diversion.”

  “That thought had occurred to us, and yes, he’s still well protected. Did you see the shooter at all?”

  “No. I just heard his departing footsteps.”

  “Heavy or light?”

  I hesitated. “What difference does that make?”

  “Light could mean a woman, heavier a man.”

  “Unless, of course, we’re dealing with a thin, tall man. Or maybe even someone who could be either.”

  “Also possible. How did you know where he was located?”

  “I spotted his rifle.”

  “Suggesting this hit was not a professional one.”

  “Whoever did this was a damn good marksman—”

  “Yes, but a professional could have made the shot through the open window from the back of the room. He or she certainly wouldn’t have let any part of the rifle hang out the goddamn window.”

  I frowned. “Professional or not, how could they have known Tris would be walking down that street?”

  “Perhaps by the same means we did—a tracking spell.”

  “So how did they know we were intending to question him? We only really decided this morning, and that wouldn’t have given them enough time to set this all up, surely.”

  “It might have something to do with the hecatomb being sealed and cleansed—the dark spawn would have felt its loss and perhaps suspected Tristan had been compromised.” He paused, waiting for a car to move past before tugging me on. “I don’t suppose he mentioned where he was staying when you were talking?”

  “At some hotel with plaza in its name. Why?”

  “Because it’s possible that once the killer has stashed his gun, he’ll head across to the hotel to clean out Tristan’s belongings and wipe down the room. I think we need to arrive first.”

  I pulled my hand free and did a quick Google search. “The closest possibility is only a block away.”