by Ilana Waters
And just because Cunningham isn’t scheming against me specifically doesn’t mean I’ll be unaffected by her plans, whatever they are, Titus thought to himself. Working with Abigail might still be the only way to uncover the truth about Cunningham. And at this rate, he might need her growing powers to stay alive.
Titus groaned. How the tables have turned. Was she his protector now? Or perhaps there was some sort of modern-day equality going on. there He and Abigail had to stand, back-to-back, against common enemies.
Yes, that suited him better. Not much, but a little.
“What are you moaning about?” Abigail jutted her chin at him. “You said I almost got it right with that truth spell. Between the two of us, I’m sure we can think of something to sort this out.”
“Perhaps. But not in our present location.” Titus’s lips formed a thin line. “Once Cunningham and her cronies regroup, they’ll be sure to seek us out. And the PIA might come after you, too.” He gazed over the teeming sea of mortals.
“We have to get out of here.”
Chapter 14
It was an intimidating room.
Gray concrete floors gave way to similar-looking walls, which rose to ceilings crisscrossed with wooden beams. Not exactly what Abigail was expecting when she stepped inside the ordinary-looking London townhouse. There was a coldness about the place, a distinct chill in the air. The warmest thing in the entire drawing room was a bearskin rug in front of the massive stone fireplace. And even the head of the rug looked like it wanted to eat her.
There were more animal heads on the walls, mouths open, fangs bared. I wonder if Titus killed all these, or had someone do it for him. Abigail didn’t want to know. Macabre artwork leered from gilded frames. Man-size serpents, skeletons on horses, Greek gods eating babies. Abigail thought she even spotted an original Doré. There was also an abstract piece—crimson on white canvas—that looked like blood spatters.
Really, really hoping that’s red ink. Abigail carefully walked around a sculpture of people in agonizing, twisting poses and stood before the fireplace. She frowned at one of the fireplace legs: a nubile-looking woman, partially clothed. The other leg was a roaring lion seated on its haunches. Yet for all her unease, Abigail felt less apprehensive than she rightfully should.
There’s more to Titus than meets the eye, she thought. I just know it. Her intuition was never wrong. Okay, rarely wrong. And it was telling Abigail that she was safe with Titus. Or, at the very least, that the danger she encountered in his company didn’t come from him.
“So, this is how vampires live, huh?” She drummed her fingers on the mantel, scanning the row of books and naked-lady statuettes it held. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark; the only light came from a handful of wall sconces.
“It is how this one lives, for now.” He sighed. “When you shuttle between countless residences over the lifetimes, one becomes very much like another.” He motioned to an uncomfortable-looking, high-backed chair in front of the fireplace. “Make yourself at home.”
Abigail sat, the dark, unyielding wood digging into her spine. “Thanks for inviting me to your mausoleum. Tell me, does everything about you have to be so vampy?”
“Vampy?” Titus echoed.
“Yes, vampy,” Abigail repeated. “Adjective. ‘Of or relating to vampires.’ ”
“I doubt you’ll find that definition in Merriam-Webster.”
“Don’t you ever feel like, I don’t know, de-vamping?” she asked. “Maybe taking a vacation?”
Titus placed his hands on the back of the opposite chair. “Vampirism is not a profession. One does not go on holiday from it.” He loosened his collar. “Though I do enjoy the casinos of Las Vegas from time to time. I keep thinking I should build one myself.”
Abigail snorted. “Please. The world already has enough shrines to the god of money.” She rose and peeked down vast hallways and corridors. There seemed to be no end to them; the townhouse was deceptively small from the outside. “What do you need all these rooms for, anyway? I’m assuming you live by yourself.”
Titus appeared instantly at her side. “Why would you assume that? It’s not outside the realm of possibility I could pass the nights with some beautiful companion.”
Abigail put one hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Sure,” she said. “Okay. Whatever you say.” Titus scowled.
She trailed the drawing room’s perimeter, examining the decor. “But as it is, this place is too big and empty. Kind of soulless, really.” She picked up a shrunken head from a shelf.
“I assure you, my current villa is not some needy vessel waiting to be filled.” He plucked the shrunken head from her and replaced it.
“Like your heart,” Abigail muttered.
“I am quite content with my life as it is.” Titus folded his arms across his chest. “Or was, until a tiny, infuriating woman blew it up one night.”
Abigail picked up a small statue that resembled a collection of twisted vines. “Don’t make me hit you upside the head with your own artifacts.” She yawned and glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. Man, it’s past one o’clock in the morning. But even though Abigail was exhausted, she was too wired to sleep.
“So, what’s the bedroom situation here?” She jutted her chin toward the endless corridors. “Do you have a guest room . . . or wing?” I wonder where Titus sleeps, she wondered. She shook her head rapidly back and forth. Focus, Abigail! You have more important things to think about than sleeping with Titus. I mean sleeping and Titus. She squeezed her eyes shut. Jesus.
“I only brought us here so we could momentarily regroup,” Titus said. Abigail opened her eyes to see him frowning. “Obviously, your flat is not safe, if the PIA has your address. But if you need long-term accommodations, why can’t you go to a hotel?”
“Because they don’t let you stay for free. Most of my money is back at my place.”
“If I give you enough money, will you leave?”
Abigail shook her head. “No can do. The PIA might be checking local hotels. I can’t risk it. But I’m pretty sure it’s safe here—”
“Safe?” He stared at her in disbelief. “With a vampire?”
Abigail waved her hand around the room. “No one knows where you live, do they?”
“Not yet. Though, depending on the tracking skills of various PIA members, you could inadvertently lead them to us. To me.”
Abigail put both hands on her hips. “I could well say the same thing about your vampire buddies, Carver and Brandy.”
Titus closed his eyes. “They are not my buddies. But with their tracking abilities . . . all right. I see your point. I suppose it’s a chance we’ll both have to take.”
“Damn.” Abigail ran her fingers through her hair, grabbing a fistful of curls. “I was really hoping I could avoid the PIA knowing what I am. Now, they think I’m working with you for some illicit purpose—”
“Which you rather are.”
“—and are probably organizing a search party to take me down as we speak.” Abigail shook her head mournfully. “No, I definitely can’t go back there. Not ever again.”
Neither of them spoke for several minutes, though Abigail felt Titus studying the glum expression on her face.
“Wait here,” he finally said. “I will see to your room, and if I have any cuisine suitable for mortal consumption.”
“I’m surprised you don’t have servants to do that sort of thing for you,” Abigail said.
“I ate them,” Titus replied with a straight face. He disappeared before Abigail could ask if he was joking.
It was fifteen minutes before Titus returned. He’d changed out of his torn clothes and into a black collared shirt and slacks. In his hands was a silver tray with two plates and a glass of white wine. On one of the plates was a row of thin crackers, spread out like a deck of cards. Beside it was a small tin with a pearl-handled spoon. The spoon was sticking out of what looked like a tin of blackberry seeds.
“What took you so long?” Abigail took the tray from Titus and sat back down in the uncomfortable chair. “Thanks,” she said. “But if you keep running off like that, I’m going to put a locator spell on you.”
Titus snorted. “That will never happen.” He sat in the chair across from her. The cuts and scratches on his face had healed. Placing one hand on her cheek, Abigail found it much the same. Amazing, she thought.
“Ahem.” The sound of Titus’s voice jerked her out of her reverie. “Let’s keep our focus on magic that might help with our current predicament, shall we?” he asked. “We need to decide what our next step will be.”
“Wait—aren’t you worried about the masquerade?” Abigail heaped several spoonfuls of the blackberry substance onto a cracker. It didn’t look like much, but she was starving. “I mean, the clock tower didn’t just vandalize itself. How are we going to explain that to the authorities? Hey, this is really salty.” She swallowed. “And really good.”
“Glad you like it.” Titus leaned back and crossed his legs. “And we are not going to explain anything. As far as I know, no one actually saw any of us fighting, or causing damage. From what you told me about Sybil’s escape, she managed to stay out of sight as well. So, let mortals explain it however they will. Terrorist attack. Freak weather incident. Spontaneous glass combustion—I don’t care.” He folded his hands in his lap. “The bottom line is, supernaturals won’t be connected to any of it, which is exactly how we want it. You do realize you’re only supposed to put a small spoonful of caviar on there, don’t you?”
Abigail stopped chewing. “Is that what this is?” She looked at the remainder of the cracker in her hand before popping it in her mouth. “Sorry,” she said. Titus sighed. “But I guess you’re right about the other thing. Human beings do tend to rationalize what they can’t explain, especially phenomena that rattle them.” She took a long sip of wine. “Damn. Now I’m doing it.”
“Doing what?”
“Saying ‘human beings’ the way you say ‘mortals.’ ” She piled another large helping of caviar onto a cracker, then glanced at Titus. She spooned some back into the tin. “As if I’m not one of them.”
“Well, you aren’t. Not exactly.”
“Speaking of inhuman creatures, what about Cunningham?” Abigail swallowed another few caviar-topped crackers. The tin was empty now. “How do you think she’s going to explain to Sybil and the other vampires that she betrayed them? That she really did send me there to spy on them?”
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll come up with some excuse that it was all part of her plan to have the PIA dispose of you. You, the meddling witch,” he indicated her, “and possibly me, your handsome and powerful vampire partner.” He placed his hand over his heart.
“You really think they’ll buy that?” Abigail downed the rest of the wine.
“Doubtless. My allure and physical prowess are legendary.”
Abigail gave him a look.
Titus sighed. “You’d be surprised the things people are willing to believe if it gets them what they want. I’m certain Cunningham and her accomplices think that, with Arthur and Richard working on taking us down, they are free to carry out their original plan. Tomorrow. At the docks.” He stroked his chin. “I suppose it wouldn’t do to try and kill the old man and the boy before then. They’re sure to be fortified in that safe house of theirs by now, and they’ve probably informed the rest of that infernal organization—”
Abigail’s wineglass clattered on the silver tray. “No one is killing anyone. At least, no one is killing Arthur and Richard.”
Titus leaned forward. “Once again, you seem very loyal to people who were more than willing to leave you to die less than an hour ago.”
Abigail rose from her seat. She put the tray on a small table next to her and her elbow on the fireplace mantel.
“Arthur wasn’t,” she said. “Not exactly. And Richard . . . he was just confused. He didn’t know what to think.” She turned to Titus. “Can you blame him? And it’s not like either of them have a choice now. They have to cut themselves off from me, since it’s confirmed I have magical powers. Don’t know which PIA member made up that meshuga rule . . .” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, none of that justifies killing them, even if we could get close enough.
“Cunningham, on the other hand . . .” Abigail trembled with rage, “now there’s one throat I’d like to wrap my fingers around.” She pounded her fist on the mantel. Sparks of magic flew out from under it, and the stone surface vibrated. A statuette next to her hand teetered and fell. Before Abigail could blink, Titus was at the mantel, the delicate figurine in his outstretched palm.
“I know you’re upset, but do have a care.” He replaced the statuette. “Several of these items are older than I am. And I hate to say this, but did it ever occur to you that Arthur and Richard are in on Lady Macbeth’s plan?”
Abigail shook her head. “No way. Why would they be sneaking around the clock tower trying to find out more about it?”
“Maybe they were part of Cunningham’s act. Or maybe she cut them out.”
Abigail shook her head again. “No, I don’t think they were ever in it in the first place. They seemed really shocked to see her up there with Sybil and the rest. And I don’t know about Arthur, but I doubt Richard’s that good an actor.”
Titus gave a wry smile. “Agreed. Cunningham, however . . .”
“She could win a fucking Academy Award. Goddamn.” Abigail gnashed her teeth. “Did you see how she twisted that whole thing around? When I get ahold of that . . . that . . .” Her face contorted in fury. The statuette closest to her exploded, spraying marble chunks across the room.
Titus ducked and covered his head with his arm. “For Fate’s sake, will you please find a form of catharsis that doesn’t involve destroying my home? You’ve already inhaled several hundred dollars’ worth of fish eggs.”
“Hey, you offered!” Abigail jutted her chin at the empty caviar tin. “But sorry about your tchotchkes. I’m just so mad, I could . . .” The remaining statuettes on the mantel rattled. “Oh, crap.” Abigail hung her head. “I just thought of something. What if it’s not just Sybil and the vampires at the docks tomorrow? What if there are more supernaturals—who knows how many?”
“I had considered the possibility,” Titus replied in a low voice.
“Great.” Abigail blew a puff of air out her mouth. “Nothing better than marching blindly into the deadly. And what did Cunningham mean by ‘lives are at stake’? Whose lives? Ours? Theirs? All of England’s? The world’s?”
“I’ll admit, she wasn’t very specific on the matter.”
“Maybe there’s something in one of these books that can help us.” Abigail pulled a thin volume from the shelf and began flipping through it. It was filled with grotesque images of vampires sucking blood from mortal victims. Young women in their beds, soldiers on battlefields, unsuspecting villagers . . .
Reeeally hope this is a reference book, and not a diary, Abigail thought. Or a to-do list.
Titus lifted the book from her hands, snapped it shut, and replaced it on the shelf. “If it’s dusty facts you’re after, I think the library would be a far safer place to browse.”
“What I’m after,” Abigail said, “is something that will help us figure out what Cunningham is up to and how to stop it. Don’t you have any spells that can do that? You know, ‘how to see what mine enemy is doing presently,’ or whatnot? Witches used something similar in World War II, during the Battle of Berlin.”
“That’s different.” Titus mindlessly ran his forefinger along the top of the mantel. “That spell only works if you—wait.” His finger stopped moving. “How did you know that?”
Abigail motioned to the volumes on the shelf. “Um, I know how to open books?”
Titus lowered his eyelids halfway. “Careful, or you’ll pass that sarcastic gene on to your children.”
“I told you before: the PIA has
access to a lot of Wiccan stuff. I also did a bit of research on you in the history section.”
“And?” Titus raised his eyebrows.
“And history didn’t have very nice things to say. Had to stop reading. Kind of turned off by the whole murdering and torturing thing.” Abigail wrinkled her nose.
“Well,” Titus coughed, “those were very different times. Near-constant wars. And I was a general.”
“Yeah, but you seemed a lot more murder-y than your colleagues, even before you got vamped.”
“Vamp—?” Titus sighed. He turned his back to the mantel and stared straight ahead. “I did what had to be done to get where I am today.”
“So you could be a vampire? Why?” Abigail asked softly. “Because that’s the ultimate murderer?”
Titus’s jaw tensed. “That was not my choice. Not part of the plan.”
“Oh. I see.” Abigail had not considered this. “Well, the information they had on you was kind of sparse. Do you know other witches who could help us? Your family, for instance?”
“I never had a family.” Titus’s gaze was still focused on the far end of the room.
“You must have,” Abigail insisted. “Everybody has a family, even if they’re crappy. I don’t think mine will do us much good. I mean, they don’t even know I’m magic. So, I doubt they have books of spells and things like that. But in your case, you must at least have had parents—”
“I said, I never had a family!” he shouted at her. He slammed his palm above the mantel. The remaining statuettes flew off and hit the opposite wall, where they shattered. He glowered at Abigail, vampire eyes flashing, lips pulled so far back she could see his fangs.
Abigail felt her heart leap inside her chest. She froze, but only for a moment. “Fine,” she said at last. “You don’t have any family.” She held up her hands. “Sorry I mentioned it. But don’t you at least have, I don’t know, vampire friends who can help?”