Institute of the Shadow Fae Box Set

by C. N. Crawford

  “Arianna.”

  The man on stage gripped his microphone. Long, black hair hung over his translucent skin, and I caught a flash of fangs. “So what’s the deal with humans? My wife is human. I’m on my tenth human wife, you know what I mean? I marry them when they’re twenty and they’ve got cute arses, and sixty years later, it’s like I’ve married the Crypt Keeper.”

  The crowd groaned. The audience sat around small round tables, nursing drinks. Most looked human. A few people wore flouncy shirts with ruffled collars—a few even in Elizabethan ruffs and velvet suits. But without seeing their fangs or sniffing them up close, it was hard to get a handle on which were vamps and which were fang-hags.

  I took another step inside, surveying the layout of the place. A curtain hung at the back of the pub, forming a sort of makeshift stage. Maybe I could stake this comedian arsehole behind it. The handy thing about killing vampires was that they didn’t leave a body behind—just a discreet pile of ashes, easy to miss in the dark.

  “My wife is crazy.” He spoke into the mic, and the feedback pierced the air. “You know, she tries to eat all natural. No GMOs, no preservatives. Then she gets these fake tits and Botox. So it’s all well and good for her to eat quinoa, but she’s poisoning my dinner with chemicals, innit? I don’t want to drink that shit. Disgusting.”

  I loved it when my victims made it easy for me to forego the guilt.

  “What are you booing me for?” he yelled.

  I had no idea where Ruadan was, except that he was probably watching me from a dark corner.

  With my box of glasses, I stalked behind the curtain.

  It smelled of old beer and piss back there, and there wasn’t much room—just enough for a small card table, a folding chair, and a few saggy costumes hanging on a crooked clothing rack. A door stood open to a unisex loo.

  I dropped my glasses on the table, listening to the comedian haranguing the crowd about his human wife’s tits. I pulled the stake from my cleavage, ready for action. I slid it behind my back so he wouldn’t notice it.

  As the crowd fell silent again, the raven-haired vampire stepped behind the curtain. His gaze swept up and down my body, and he flicked his black hair out of his eyes.

  He licked his fangs. “Hello there, darling. You look like a fine bit of crumpet. You all right?”

  “I’m fantastic.” I smiled at him, then whipped out the stake and rammed it into his heart before he could see what was coming. His eyes widened with shock, and then his body blackened and cracked.

  He collapsed into a pile of ash, and it clouded the air a bit. I tried not to breathe it in, disturbed by the idea of inhaling vampire particles into my lungs. I coughed.

  One down, fourteen to go. I kicked the pile under the table, then tucked the stake back into my cleavage.

  That was easy.

  From the stage, the emcee’s voice boomed over the pub.

  “And our next act, directly from New York City—the Big Apple—is Arianna, with the hot new trend of glass smashing!”

  Before heading out to the stage, I grabbed one of the stained dresses on the clothes rack—some sort of a fairy costume with a tulle skirt. I ripped the bodice until I had a long strip of fabric, and I wrapped it around my knuckles.

  I flicked my hair over my shoulder, plastering a smile on my face. It probably came off like something between “deranged children’s TV presenter” and the rictus of a clown-obsessed serial killer before he slit your throat. I had no idea how to put on a show. At least, I didn’t know how to put on a show devoid of blood and severed limbs.

  Already, I could feel the crowd tensing, as if my presence alone were putting them on edge. I scanned the audience, trying to pick out the real vampires from their goth admirers. I noticed a few fangs, but most kept their mouths shut. A few clearly looked like performers: an elderly woman slumped near the front, dressed in a Little Bo Peep burlesque outfit, nursing a martini; a scarecrow with a bongo drum.

  How to lure the vampires out of this crowd of humans...

  A small stool stood on the makeshift stage, and I dropped my box of glasses onto it. Then, I leaned into the microphone. “Hello, London!” I said in my American accent, and feedback pierced my ears.

  A heavy silence greeted me. Little Bo Peep snorted dismissively. All right, old woman. I’ll show you how it’s done.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m here to…smash glasses.”

  I hadn’t thought much about what this would entail, but I was trying to improvise.

  I took a deep, shaky breath. Gods below, could I just go back to killing people already?

  When I scanned the room again, I caught a glimpse of violet eyes burning from an alcove. No one seemed to notice Ruadan. When I’d first met him, I found it hard to focus on him at all, as if his entire body were a blur of magic. Now, he stood out to me like a beacon.

  As Ruadan came into focus through the whorls of his dark magic, I caught a distinct curl of his lips. Was he smiling? I’d never seen him smile. It was almost enough to put me right off my glass-smashing routine.

  I wrapped the fabric a little tighter around my knuckles, then lifted the first glass. I tossed it in the air, giving the throw a bit of dramatic spin. As gravity pulled the glass down again, I slammed my fist into it. Shards of glass rained around me. A few people in the audience screamed—men, I was pretty sure.

  I grabbed the next glass—a wineglass—and tossed that. As it fell, I drove my fist into the stem. That one didn’t smash quite as spectacularly in the air as the first one had, but it did shatter on the floor. The act was still living up to its name.

  Still—clearly, the pint glasses were better. So for my next trick, I grabbed one of the pint glasses. Before I threw it into the air, I surveyed the room. A blur of movement tightened my stomach. It wasn’t Ruadan—I could still see him lurking in one of the alcoves, though his body was now completely alert. That meant it was one of the other novices, already here and killing vamps. And I’d only slaughtered one, so far.

  All the vampires’ eyes were on me—the insane woman on the stage. I’d given the other novices the perfect distraction to kill while I was stuck up here.

  Baleros’s twentieth law of power: Bring your enemy to you.

  I unwrapped the cloth from my knuckles, then tossed the next pint glass in the air. Bare-fisted, I punched through it, and glass shattered around me. A few people screamed again, but some also clapped, and I was starting to feel a bit proud of my show. More importantly, I had just a hint of blood on my knuckles, which meant the vampires would be homing in on my scent.

  Once a vampire had his senses locked on someone’s particular smell, he wanted to pursue it.

  They wouldn’t rush for me. No—vampires who lived among humans had learned to restrain their wildest impulses. A vampire scenting blood was sort of like a man hitting on a beautiful woman in a bar. Usually, they took turns, to have a go one at a time, instead of just all crowding around at once. They were competitive, but they had a sense of propriety about it. It was, after all, a seduction.

  I lifted a wineglass, throwing it high in the air, and I smashed it perfectly this time. Glass rained around me, and a few shards cut into my skin.

  The humans were cheering louder now, a few even whooping. If I ever made it out of the Institute alive, I could have a glittering career ahead of me.

  One more glass—twirling into the air, catching in the golden lights—and I shattered it with my fist.

  The audience roared their approval.

  Now, blood streaked over my fist, and I raised my hand, waving it at the crowd. Blood dripped onto the stage. “Thank you, London! That’s all for tonight!”

  My good mood was dampened by the sight of Maddan’s red hair, slinking in the shadows. I’d recognize his stupid, lumbering gait anywhere. But despite his awkward movements, he moved silently, like he was supposed to. Cloaked by shadows, he staked a vamp.

  Prince Knob-end of the Wanktonians was showing me up, and I had to act f
ast.

  At least the vampires had my scent now, which meant they’d pursue me. Through the crowd’s cheers, I heard the owner bark something about “cleaning up that fucking mess,” but I ignored him, slinking back to the loo behind the curtain.

  When the vamps approached me, I had to slay them before any of them realized I was fae. I didn’t want them to catch on that I was a spell-slayer before I had the chance to stake them.

  I stepped into the loo and closed the door, readying my stake. Then, I inched open the door to peek outside.

  It was only a few seconds before the first vampire prowled behind the curtain. He was tall and lean, with blond hair, spectacles, and a hint of stubble. In his Batman T-shirt and jeans, he nearly looked human—apart from the glowing red veins in his pupils.

  He sniffed the air, and I flung open the door. I leaned against the doorframe, cocking a hip—trying to look seductive, and no doubt failing. I held the stake behind my back with one hand. “Why, hello there, young man,” I drawled in my American accent.

  “Hi.” He smiled, showing off his fangs. “I’m Mike. Your act was very impressive. Perhaps we could—”

  BAM. I slammed my stake into his chest, and his eyes flew open with shock. His body blackened, then crumbled into ash on the floor.

  I frowned down at the pile. I almost felt bad about Mike. He actually seemed kind of nice, but the Old Gods must have their sacrificial blood.

  In any case, he was properly dead now. I kicked the ashy pile to the side of the doorframe, sort of mashing it into the stained rug so no one would notice it.

  I stepped out of the loo, closing the door behind me.

  It was another twenty seconds before the next vampire rounded the corner—he looked about twenty-five, much shorter than the last. He wore a fedora and a beaded necklace.

  Once more, I held the stake behind my back. It was amazing how easily male vamps would ignore a stake behind your back if you showed off some cleavage and stuck out your boobs a bit.

  Fedora narrowed his eyes. “What happened to the other bloke? I thought I saw someone come back here.”

  I nodded at the closed door. “I wouldn’t let him drink from me. He’s in there, crying into his Batman T-shirt.”

  Fedora smirked. “Of course he is. But vampires shouldn’t ask for permission. That’s not how we operate. That’s why they call me the Tamer of Women. I’m a legend—”

  A stake to his chest cut off the rest of his seduction pitch. His skin cracked, desiccating before my eyes as it turned to ash. I coughed in a bit of charred vamp.

  Three down. Now I needed to move outside before they started to realize the vamps weren’t coming back from behind the curtain. If I could lure—

  The sound of shrieking interrupted my thoughts.

  “Spell-slayers!”

  Oh, balls. We’d been discovered.

  I peered around the corner, and my breath caught in my throat as I realized one of the other novices had cocked it up again.

  How long until the vampires realized that I was one of the slayers, too?

  I gripped my stake.

  The scene was chaos—vampires attacking humans, flinging them against walls, snatching them by their shirt collars to sniff them. They were trying to hunt out the fae. Given my position in the pub, I’d have to fight my way through a mob of fae-hunting vampires to get out.

  My heart raced, and I scanned the pub until my gaze landed on Ruadan. In a cloud of inky magic, his violet eyes burned bright. He beckoned me toward him, summoning me to leave the pub with him. But maybe this was my opportunity to make up for the time I’d lost while I’d been stuck smashing glasses on stage.

  Baleros’s twenty-second law of power: Chaos is the opportunity to remake the world into your vision.

  Chapter 41

  One of the other novices had already outed us, which meant we weren’t in the shadows anymore. Might as well make the most of it, use this as my chance to prove the Old Gods really did favor me. Just like in the old arena, my ability to kill would give me leverage.

  As I started into the fray, I felt a whoosh of magic by my side—cold power pulsing over my skin. Then, I felt the warmth of Ruadan’s body behind me. He reached out, grabbing my arm that held the stake.

  He leaned down, whispering, “We need to go before they turn on you.” His piney, apple-tinged scent surrounded me. For a brief, insane moment I had an urge to lean back into the security of his powerful body. Something about my days alone in the prison had left me desperate for another person’s touch.

  Instead, I shook my head. If he thought I was afraid of a few vampires, he really didn’t know me at all.

  “I need to win this,” I said. “I need to get out of the prison you’re keeping Ciara and me in. Killing gives me leverage. That’s just how it’s always been.”

  I ripped my arm from his grip, elbowed him hard in the chest, and then leapt onto one of the tables. I was heading for a vampire who’d started punching a human woman in the face. I slammed my stake down hard through the vamp’s back, piercing his heart. As he crumbled to ash, I yanked out the stake, ready for my next victim.

  From below, a blonde female vamp pointed at me. She screamed, “Spell-slayer!”

  She leapt high into the air, arms outstretched. I brought my stake up hard into her heart. She burst into a cloud of ash in the air, and I inhaled a puff of blackened vampire.

  Now, three male vamps were prowling closer. Too many to stake at once. Still, I’d take them all out, one at a time. I jumped off the table. When the first vampire ran for me—a large male with a shaved head—I grabbed his arm, using his velocity to hurl him into one of his friends. The move sent both crashing to the floor, and I whirled to drive my stake into the third one’s heart. I sucked in a bit more ash as he crumbled.

  The remaining vampires in the pub moved in closer, and a familiar feeling arced through my limbs—the glorious battle fury of the arena. It was a cold, brutal sensation, but in a way, it felt like home.

  I ducked and pivoted, fending them off with an avalanche of fists and elbows—the occasional kick to the face. Whenever the chance presented itself, I slammed my stake into a vampire’s heart.

  Even without the lumen stone, my speed picked up. Battle rage sharpened my senses. Dust and ash rained down around me. Forget performing—this is what I was made for.

  My attacks stalled when a vampire surprised me by gripping me by the hair, yanking back my head. I bashed my elbow into his gut. He bent over, holding his stomach. I slammed my stake through his back.

  From the corner of my vision, I glimpsed Melusine staking a vamp who was coming for me. We were working pretty well together.

  But the attack had thrown me off, and another knocked me to the ground. He was pinning me, clamping down on my wrists, so I brought my knee up hard into his groin, loosening his grip. I grabbed him by the back of the hair, pulling him off me. He smelled of petrol.

  As I did, I caught sight of something that sent a jolt of fear racing through my blood. On his wrist, he had a tattoo of a bundle of sticks—the fascia. It was Baleros’s symbol. My body began shaking. I knew that symbol well. Baleros had once burnt it into my wrist as a brand.

  “Who are you?” I shrieked.

  “He’s coming for you.” The vampire grinned. “He burns for you.”

  My heart thumped against my ribs, my mind racing. The butterscotch candies in my prison cell, the strange blaze of fire when he’d died…Baleros was never going to be easy to kill. Was it possible that he was alive?

  I slammed my fist into the vampire’s face over and over, until blood poured from his nose and mouth. “Where is he?” I screamed. Fury ripped through my mind. I was losing it.

  The vampire’s head lolled. “Who?”

  I sat on top of him, my knees pressing into his chest, and I punched him again. He reeked of petrol…

  “Where is Baleros?” I hit him again. “Is he alive?” Maybe I needed to hold back a little, or he wouldn’t be able to ans
wer any of my questions. I was about to break his jaw.

  “Can’t say.” He tried to punch me, but I grabbed his fist.

  I twisted his arm until I heard the snap of bone. I twisted it some more until the vampire screamed.

  My gaze flicked up, just long enough to determine that Melusine was managing to keep the other vampires at bay with her shadow-leaping and staking routine. That was handy, because I needed answers from this fucker.

  Pressing my knees into his chest, I held the stake up higher in the air.

  “Tell me where he is.”

  “No.”

  “I’m not going to kill you now. This will be much worse.”

  I slammed the stake into his shoulder, pinning his body to the floor. Without a direct hit to the heart, it would hurt like hells, but it wouldn’t kill him. He screamed again, the sound of agony piercing the air.

  It took me a moment to realize the vampire was holding a lighter in one hand. Then it took another second to connect the lighter to the scent of petrol burning my nostrils.

  The vamp brought the lighter to his lapel, and his body burst into flames. I leapt off him with a yelp, the flames already licking at my bare legs. A few embers burned on my dress, and I smacked them out with my hand. Luckily, the fabric was still damp.

  And that’s how a vampire commits suicide.

  When his body had decayed into an ashy pile, silence fell over the pub. All of the vampires had turned into piles of ash on the floor, and the humans had all fled.

  Unfortunately, Maddan was still here.

  He glared at me, his lip curled. “What are you, gutter fae? How do you kill the way you do? What sort of nightmarish demon is your other half?”

  I shrugged, slipping the ashy stake back into my cleavage. I was trying to act casual, but my entire body was shaking from what I’d just seen. Is Baleros alive?

  I crossed to Maddan, narrowing my eyes at him. “What am I? I don’t know, but it seems like the Old Gods don’t have a problem with it. Seems like they sort of favor me. I killed at least ten vamps here tonight. What about you?”