by Ilana Waters
“You mean even without a spell like the one you did on my hand?”
“Yes, even so.” Titus studied her again. He thought she’d be pleased with this new information. Instead, the worried crease returned to her brow.
“The other vampires,” she said slowly. “They sensed my magic, too, right?”
Titus lifted his chin. “Ah, I see you caught that, at least.”
Abigail placed one hand on the side of her face. “Then it’s only a matter of time until someone at the PIA notices, if they haven’t already. Did you know many of them can sense a supernatural in their midst?” She shook her head rapidly back and forth. “I’ll have to worry about that later. Right now, we have bigger problems.”
“We do? Wait—what do you mean we?” Titus narrowed his eyes.
Abigail ignored the question. “So, has your, ah, magical pantry been restocked?” Titus’s brows knit together in confusion. “You know,” she said. “Has your mystical gas tank been refueled since last night? Er, early this morning, I guess?”
Titus finally realized what she meant. Maddening, the way she speaks in riddles. “In a sense, yes. It will take a bit longer before I’m at full capacity. Feeding also helps, oddly enough.”
“But if you had so much magic last night, why couldn’t you turn us both into birds so we could fly out of there? Is it because birds are, like, an air thing and you’re not an air witch, like Gregson?” She twirled her finger.
“No,” Titus sighed. “It doesn’t work like that. And how did you know Gregson was an air witch?”
“The way he stopped Beller from moving in midair. The whole bird deal.” She made a face. “It was kind of obvious, really.”
“Well, theoretically, every witch should be able to do that first bit, with enough skill and practice.” Titus began rolling down his sleeves. But the shirt’s condition was poorer than he had thought; his arms just showed through the sleeve’s holes. He rolled the sleeves back up.
“So, how come I can make it rain if I’m an earth witch? Isn’t rain, like, a watery thing?”
Titus closed his eyes, willing himself to be patient. “It’s like I told you outside the pub: witches can control elements other than their primary one. It just takes a little more effort, that’s all.” He opened his eyes and fixed them on her. “And discipline. You might also have an affinity for metal. Metal is a part of earth.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Though, if you follow the Chinese system, it’s a whole different element . . .” He shook his head to clear it. “I’ve no time to explain all this to you. I’m more curious as to why Gregson performed that particular spell.”
Abigail nodded. “It was a doozy, as my grandfather would say.”
“Yes.” Titus gestured toward the room’s only door. Abigail walked to it, and he followed. “It was extremely powerful. Most witches wouldn’t be able to do it ‘on the fly,’ if you’ll forgive the pun. Rather, I wager it was a specific spell, created in advance. Then, it could be deployed when needed.”
“You mean like the magic in my ring.” Abigail opened the door to reveal a hallway with steps at one end. She held the door open for Titus.
“Exactly.” Titus paused halfway through the door. “Which meant that Gregson anticipated the possibility he might run into powerful enemies in the course of his illicit duties. Which, in turn, means we are in deeper than we imagined with whatever Cunningham was up to.” A sinking feeling hit Titus’s stomach. “I think I see what you meant about us having bigger problems.” He followed Abigail into the shadowy hall. The only light came from emergency panels along the baseboards.
“Glad we can agree on that, at least.” She moved forward slowly, squinting in the darkness.
“In fact, this may be so big, I’m considering consulting with the High Council.” Titus let out a heavy sigh.
“The High Council? Oh, yeah. I did read something about that.” Abigail started down the stairs, her sandals clacking against the concrete. “The thirteen witches who are in charge of all other witches.”
“They’re not in charge.” Certainly not of me. “More like an overseeing body.” Titus’s heavier footfall made thumping noises. “You’ve got the usual assortment of high-status nitwits: lawyers, politicians, leaders of industry, and so on. They’re supposed to help deal with threats to witches. But more often than not, I’ve found their only interest is keeping themselves in power. Still, it might be worth speaking to them. If they feel our kind are under attack, it may move them to action.”
“You really think witches are under attack?” Abigail chewed one of her fingernails.
“Well, Cunningham is associating with some very powerful witches, if they can do the kinds of spells Gregson did.” They reached the bottom of the stairs, but the light bulbs above them were broken. Titus cupped his hands and pushed them together, as though squeezing an invisible ball. A globe of light appeared. He lowered his hands. “It’s possible she’s planning something that involves even more witches, but we’ve no idea what.” He continued walking—in front of Abigail now, the ball of light guiding them. “Probably the kind of thing the Council should have on their radar.”
“I wonder if the rest of the PIA knows about Gregson. About his involvement.” Abigail stopped. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her hands as Titus had done. After a few seconds, a weak ball of light appeared between them. “I could sneak around and try to find that out while you’re contacting the Council.” Abigail opened her eyes. Her face lit up when she saw the softly glowing ball.
Titus glanced over his shoulder and frowned at the ball. “You do whatever you like.” He walked on, Abigail trailing after him. Her ball made shadows dance on the wall as it bobbed up and down. “But you speak as if this need be a joint venture. It does not. However,” he sniffed, “I do wish I could gather more information before I go to the Council. They generally need a compelling reason to conduct their own investigations.” They’d reached the front doors. Titus pulled on the heavy metal handles. The doors groaned open.
“But first things first.” Titus turned around. “We cannot go anywhere looking like this.” For the second time in as many days, he was covered in blood not his own, and not in a manner he found pleasant. “We must get a fresh change of clothing.”
“We agree again. Hallelujah!” Abigail raised her hands to the ceiling. “Too bad all that water wasn’t enough to clean us off.” She glanced up at the clear sky outside. “Still . . . pretty gnarly. I never controlled the weather before.”
“And in England, no less. Quite a feat.” Titus smirked. “I’m sure Great Britain’s weather service would like to hire you. Solve that fickle rain problem they’ve had for the last thousand years.”
Abigail shrugged. “It’s more than I could do before.” She looked to the ball of light, then at Titus, and smiled.
Titus humphed, but did not contradict her. “Even so, how in hell did you expect me to know what you were trying to say back there, in the crate? With all the noise going on around us, it was impossible to hear oneself think, let alone another person.”
“I thought you had supersensitive hearing! And I was saying ‘hydra.’ ”
“Hydra?” Titus repeated. “My ancient Greek is a little rusty, but doesn’t that have something to do with water? I thought you wanted me to make a gigantic, flaming ball.”
Abigail rolled her eyes. “The story of the hydra, you dimwit. You know, where Hercules slays a many-headed monster by setting it on fire?”
“Ah. In that case . . .” His eyes lifted to the street lamps above them. It was easy enough to see by their light, now. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but in most versions of the story, Hercules kills the hydra by cutting off each head and searing the wound closed.” He made a slicing motion across his neck. The bright ball next to him disappeared.
“Oh.” Abigail scratched her head. “I guess I read a different version.” She blew at her own ball of light and watched it dissolve into mist. �
��Besides . . . searing, spontaneously combusting . . . you’re a fire witch.” She stepped into the street and looked around. They were alone. “Aren’t all things flame-related under your purview?” Before Titus could answer, she spoke again. “Which will leave evidence,” she murmured. “I mean, it won’t be long till someone discovers whatever’s left of that warehouse.”
True, thought Titus. Even though that part of the docks was abandoned, anyone nearby wouldn’t have to see the damage to know it was there. The stench of a building that had been burned, then soaked, would go on for miles. If Titus inhaled deeply enough, his vampire sense of smell could almost detect it from here. He nodded at Abigail.
“Doesn’t that mean, at the very least, that mortals will find it?” she pressed. “What if this blows your supernatural cover wide-open? All of you?”
Titus shook his head. “Not likely. One, the vampires will be ash. Two, the only witch remains your mortal police will find is a collection of dead birds. Which they will chalk up to being unusual and no more. It’s not outside the realm of possibility that a flock of birds would nest in an abandoned building.”
“But wait—you killed Gregson. He was a witch. And you said this Council of yours exists to deal with threats to witches. Won’t they come after you once they find out what you did?”
Titus grinned. “Not if they don’t know who did it.” He began walking north. “Look, Gregson was involved with a great many vampires in some very illegal activity. They were killed at the location of said illegal activity. With everything connecting us to this crime literally up in smoke, the Council would be perfectly reasonable in assuming these partners in crime did each other in.”
“And I’m guessing that’s the version you’ll give them if they ask?” Abigail walked quickly to keep up with him.
“Something like that, yes.” Titus smiled.
“Well, when you put it that way . . .” Abigail chewed a strand of hair. “But don’t forget: Gregson said it was only three days until the real shipment arrives. And that was last night. Which means we have only two days to find out what the shipment is.”
Titus stopped and held up one hand. “As the British say, ‘Steady on.’ First of all, just because we have big problems does not mean we need to solve them together. I repeat: this need not be a joint venture.”
“But wouldn’t two heads be better than one?”
“Depends on the heads. Look what happened to the hydra.”
“Come on, Titus.” Abigail gave an exasperated sigh. “You know that sharing information in this case can only put us ahead—no pun intended. If we don’t, we could both end up losing our heads—pun intended.”
Titus buried his eyes in his palm. “Remind me to purchase sunglasses to shield my eyes from your dazzling wit.”
“It really doesn’t bother you that these guys are up to no good?”
Titus laughed, a sound that came from deep in his belly. “Of course not. Though you’re right in thinking their colleagues will continue their work, if they can, now that they’re gone.” He clasped his hands behind him, and looked north again. “But, my sweet, you’re also under the impression that supernaturals are made up of the tooth fairy and Saint Nicholas, dispensing coins and toys to little children whilst they sleep. The truth is far, far darker. Many immortals are engaged in various levels of nefarious activities. Including this one.” He glowered at her.
“I don’t believe that. Just because you’re . . . because you have to . . . it doesn’t mean everyone does.” She looked at the ground. “Besides, they tried to kill you!” she blurted out.
Titus opened his mouth to reply, then stopped. It was true. This, he couldn’t ignore. And it wasn’t so much that he wanted revenge for such a petty thing. After all, supernaturals tried to kill him on a regular basis. He saw no reason to seek vengeance by ferreting out their comrades and disposing of them. Far easier to forget the whole unpleasant matter and move on. But if said colleagues meant him further harm, or meant Abigail harm—
No. He did not care about her.
But what if what Abigail said was true? That their heads—his head—was in jeopardy? Also, it was odd, supernaturals and mortals—like Cunningham—coming together for a common goal. In fact, it was nearly unheard-of. Definitely stranger than he’d let on to Abigail. It might just be worth a temporary alliance with her to get to the bottom of it. That must be why he felt so protective: his subconscious knew she could still be an asset.
I knew there was a simple explanation, thought Titus.
He could always dispose of her afterward. That was, if she wasn’t secretly sent to investigate him. In that case, he would definitely dispose of her.
“But aren’t you worried the PIA will do something to you if they catch us working together?” he asked.
Abigail snorted. “Let them fire me.”
“They may do worse than fire you.”
“Let them try to do that, too.”
“Well, I hope you aren’t expecting me to protect you.” Titus sniffed sharply. “If the PIA comes after me, I’m wishing you luck, and getting the hell out of London.”
“Thank you, Sir Chivalrous,” Abigail said drily. “Look, the bottom line is, Cunningham is up to something. Something that might affect both the mortal and supernatural world. Right now, you and I are the only ones who know about it. Which means we’re the only ones who can stop it. So, why don’t we put aside our petty differences, and come together for the greater good?”
Titus considered this. “Fine. I agree to work with you, but not for this ‘greater good’ you speak of. I will be your confederate for as long as I deem appropriate, and for my own survival. You may continue in my company if you like, though I cannot guarantee you will not end up as a PIA cautionary tale. Or my dinner.”
“Duly noted,” Abigail said. “Though we inadvertently did Cunningham a favor by destroying evidence of her criminality. Too bad those crates with her name on them burned up in the fire. I would’ve loved to bring even one plank to the PIA.”
“You’re assuming the rest of the PIA aren’t in on her scheme.”
Abigail shook her head. “I doubt it. Those I’ve met so far either don’t have the brains to carry out . . . whatever it is, or don’t have the heart.”
“From what I understand of the PIA, it is an enormous organization. You can’t possibly be acquainted with every member.”
“No, but I’m pretty sure I’ve met most of the London branch.” Abigail waved vaguely toward the city lights. “And if those behind this are moving large scales of goods through the city’s ports, it would make sense if they were based here, right?”
“I suppose,” he said tonelessly. Titus hated to admit Abigail had more of a strategic mind than he’d realized. It wasn’t often he misjudged people. She might even make a fine general, he mused.
Abigail mashed her fist into her palm. “But what would have witches, vampires, and mortals working together?”
“That, my dear, is what we must find out.”
Chapter 8
A large city is a good place to go if you don’t want to be noticed, Abigail thought. As she and Titus walked the London streets, there was the usual array of umbrella-bearing men in double-breasted suits and women in blazers. These walked alongside university boys with popped collars, or teenage girls with crimped hair in side ponytails. But there were also young men and women with Mohawks, chains hanging off their metal-studded leather jackets, lazily smoking cigarettes.
However, the variety provided by the crowd was a cache that only went so far. Even with the other oddballs around them, Abigail and Titus’s appearance was drawing looks. Torn jeans and paint-spatter patterns might be all the rage, but completely shredded, bloodstained clothing was never in fashion. They’d already gotten a stern look from a blue-helmeted bobby, and Abigail didn’t want looks to turn to words. Or accusations.
Never give them a reason to remember your face. It was advice from Abigai
l’s parents, an ominous reference to avoiding the Gestapo in Nazi Germany. But the same logic applied here. The last thing they needed was some tourist snapping a Polaroid of a man and woman who could later be identified as a vampire and witch.
Abigail folded her arms in front of her chest as she walked, but it did little to cover her disastrous clothing. “Where are we going, anyway?” she asked Titus. “Or are you just leading me on, hoping I’ll get bored and book out of here?”
“Tempting.” Titus gave a hard look to a woman staring at him, and she scurried away. “But we are going to see an old friend of mine who might have information that pertains to our predicament. I’d like to know more about Cunningham and this mysterious shipment. Remember: if I contact the Council, they will want concrete evidence of . . . something.” He frowned as a second bobby narrowed his eyes in their direction. “However, as I said earlier, we cannot go anywhere looking like this.”
“Seconded.” Abigail spotted the bobby as well. A young man with a blaring boom box on his shoulder walked in front of him. Abigail used the split second to move out of the bobby’s line of sight. “Can’t you just call this friend of yours?” She jutted her chin toward a pay phone they passed. “With any luck, they can come pick us up so we can stop schlepping around.”
“I don’t think he owns a car,” Titus said.
“Figures.” She sidestepped a woman playing guitar, the open instrument case in front of her littered with coins and bills. Abigail watched black cabs and red double-decker buses chug down the streets. The blocks were lit up with all manner of signs hawking wares and services. There was an ever-changing wind that smelled like trash, fish, chips, beer, and more, depending on when you inhaled.
“Busy, noisy, stinky.” Abigail smiled as she looked around. “Reminds me of New York.”
“Mazel tov,” Titus muttered.
Abigail made a face. “You should be happy. It’s an exciting time to be in London. So many new buildings and developments going up. So many new people coming in.” She nodded to a man in a Rasta cap playing drums.