by Ilana Waters
“You do move in some high circles, Eleanor.” Arthur chuckled. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
Cunningham smiled again and finished her tea. “Excellent. It’s settled, then. I’ll make my calls. You two can stay in the guest rooms for today; Arthur will show you the way, Richard. We’ll meet at the address I gave Arthur at ten o’clock.” She picked up the phone, brandishing it like a cudgel. “Are you ready to march into battle with me, boys?”
Arthur rose from his chair. “I’m no coward.”
After a moment, Richard got up as well. “Nor I,” he finally said with a sharp nod.
“Wonderful. I knew I could count on you two brave soldiers. Oh, and speaking of crossbows, do bring yours, both of you. Not that I expect we’ll need them, as you said, what with tools provided by Her Majesty’s military. But you know . . .” She waved her hand. “Just in case.”
“Will do, Eleanor,” called Arthur as he walked out the door. “Good night—or rather, good morning. Try to get some rest, will you?”
“I will.” She poised her index finger above the phone buttons. “You two as well.” Richard gave a resigned wave. Then both he and Arthur were gone.
Cunningham watched the door for several seconds. She replaced the receiver in its cradle, and gave her widest smile so far that night.
So the pest, Abigail, and that beast, Aurelius, doubtless overheard our new meeting location tomorrow. There had been ample opportunity for them to spot the address she’d handed Sybil. But that’s fine. No, better than fine. It’s an opportunity. Cunningham put her teacup and saucer, then Arthur’s, back on the tray. I can kill quite a few birds with one stone that way. I’ll have Arthur and Richard along in case we have trouble with Abigail and Titus—assuming the latter two survive tonight. Then, I can dispose of Arthur and Richard, or have one of the supernaturals do it for me. And all this before the senior members find out anything. She put the tea cozy back on the pot.
Cunningham surveyed her desk with a pleased expression. Arthur was never going to file that report. He was never going to file a report for the PIA ever again. What would she tell the senior members and her other colleagues about what happened? She still needed her position at the PIA, even after the final shipment. If things worked out as she hoped, this would be just the beginning of the glorious future she had planned.
I’ll make myself out to be the tragic heroine, somehow, she mused, leaning back in her chair. Yes, that’s it. I’ll say I tried to stop Arthur and Richard from going, but they foolishly insisted. That I tried to save them, barely got away with my life, and so on.
Cunningham indulged herself in a laugh. No matter how much trouble she ran into, she always came out on top. It was delicious how easy this was.
She lifted her reading glasses from the desk and carefully folded them back up. She had no intention of calling MI5. No, all that was left to do now was get in touch with Sybil and the others—whoever was still alive after the clock tower melee—and smooth things over. Contrary to what she’d told those two idiots who just left, she wasn’t worried about Sybil’s threat. “ ‘Take care of you later,’ indeed,” Cunningham muttered. By the time she was through with Sybil, that witch would be singing a different tune. Cunningham would tell her—and the vampires—that she had to put on an act in the clock tower. It was the only way to throw Arthur and Richard off the scent.
Her thumb stroked the top of the skull paperweight. “Ten o’clock tonight, then,” she purred. Just a few more phone calls.
Then, all she had to do was wait.
Chapter 16
There’s something eerie about a library at night, Titus thought to himself. Not that he was frightened of piles of books, of course. And obviously, he had no knowledge of what modern libraries looked like during the day. The closest he came was several visits to the one at Alexandria, but that had been millennia ago.
The National Art Library at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London was considerably smaller. Still, Titus could see why it might appeal to a particular sort of mortal. The bumbling, bookish sort. It reminded him of a church, not that he frequented such places. But it shared the same sense of quiet, of stillness. The rows of wooden desks resembled pews, with double-lamps positioned above each. In the center, beyond glass-topped French doors, was a long, beige carpet. Walls of bookcases lined one side of the room; the other boasted floor-to-ceiling windows with arched transoms.
The galleries above held more bookcases, their wrought iron balconies matching the chandelier wheels. One would expect an art library to have paintings on the walls, but this one didn’t have many. Instead, in front of each tall column that broke up the bookcases and windows were busts. Various artists, Titus presumed.
Of course, he could see all this in near-total darkness. But Abigail’s nature conferred no such benefit. Titus closed his eyes. The large, round bulbs above the chandelier wheels began to glow. Now, the contents of the room were easier to see, though no less eerie to Titus. Abigail didn’t seem to share his reservations. She glanced around and shrugged.
“Seems a pretty tame place for a clandestine meeting. Though I’ve always liked libraries. Never snuck into one that was closed before, of course.” She watched as Titus held one hand out to the door behind them, and its lock clicked back into place. “You know, if I were a criminal,” she said, “my magic powers would open up a whole new world of breaking and entering.”
“Yes, well.” The wooden floor beneath the carpet groaned as Titus stepped over it. “Try to remember that magical criminal activity is why we’re here. Before you engage in any, make sure it’s worthwhile. The kind that attracts the Council’s attention is the last kind you want to dabble in.”
“Are you sure it’s safe to leave your crypt?” Abigail asked. “I mean, house?”
Titus splayed his hands out. “This is a meeting place used by witches for over one hundred years. So, unless you’re a witch, you’re not getting in. That precludes Carver and Brandy—along with any of their friends—from attending.”
“But what about Sybil? She’s a witch.”
“And likely engaged in activity she wants hidden from the Council,” Titus sighed. “Trust me: this is the last place she’ll be.”
Abigail’s eyes wandered over the stacks. “This joint is a ghost town.” A creaking sound came from a bust on her left. Abigail’s head snapped up at the white stone face. “Hopefully not literally.” The space between her eyebrows creased with worry. “Are you positive they said they’d be here?”
Titus smiled. “Scared of an old building settling, are we? And yes, they’ll be here, in a manner of speaking.” He faced the double door at the entrance and closed his eyes. He murmured words too soft for Abigail to hear, in a language too ancient for her to know. When he opened his eyes again, she was giving him a quizzical look. But her attention soon turned to the plume of smoke swirling inside the doors’ glass. Her eyes bulged as the billows grew larger and thicker. They darkened from white to a deep gray, then to almost black. Abigail gasped and stepped back, beside Titus.
“Have no fear,” he said. “Nothing is actually on fire.”
A figure began to appear—indistinct at first, till the edges hardened and sharpened into the face of a man. He was still transparent, with clouds of smoke folding into themselves behind him. But he was most definitely real: pale, in his fifties or sixties, with silver hair. Titus speculated his true years numbered in the hundreds.
The man wore a gray three-piece suit, though Titus and Abigail could only see the upper portion. Even though he wasn’t physically in the library, one could feel powerful magic emanating from him. This was not a witch to be trifled with.
Abigail saw as much, to Titus’s satisfaction. “Whoa,” she breathed, taking another step back. “Who is that?”
“Lord Henry Ashdown,” Titus said, half replying to her, half greeting the man in the door. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Can’t say I fee
l the same.” The older man sniffed. “Titus Aurelius. Wherever you go, trouble is sure to follow.”
Titus smiled. “You flatter me. In that case, may I introduce tonight’s trouble? Meet Abigail Silver.” He inclined his head to her. “Abigail, this is Lord Henry Ashdown.”
“Hi!” Abigail gave a quick smile and a wave. “Lovely, ah, conference room you have here.”
Ashdown let out a pained sigh. “Why am I not surprised that a vampire-witch hybrid is keeping company with another magical oddity?”
“Hey!” Abigail said. “I’m not odd. At least, not that odd.” Without turning her head, she shifted her eyes to Titus.
We came all the way here for this? she asked. Couldn’t this Ashdown guy just have appeared at a doorway in your house or something?
Possibly, Titus replied. He, too, kept his gaze fixed in front of him. But Council members love to make you jump through hoops, like any other bureaucrats.
“I’d be careful there if I were you, Ashdown,” he said aloud. “Budding witches can grow to be powerful ones. We all had to start somewhere.”
Ashdown ran his eyes over Titus’s frame. “I can’t imagine starting much lower than spending time with a vampire.”
“Yes, Ashdown, your thoughts on the matter are well-known to me.” And it’s a good thing you’re not here in the flesh, Titus thought to himself, or I’d take your head off. “No need to rehash them there. I’m sure we both have better things to do.”
“Indeed. I must continue my duties of governing the Wiccan world, and you have more mindless killing to attend to.”
Titus fought not to clench his fists. I wonder if there’s a way to reach through the door and strangle him. “Careful, my lord. Nature gave vampires predatory powers for a reason.” He licked his lips. “Perhaps that’s the way it should be.” Ashdown’s jaw tightened.
But Abigail seemed to think the comment was intended partially for her. “So you want us all to be animals?” she asked Titus. “If your dog spent seventy percent of his time licking his balls, would you do that, too?” She held up her hand. “Look, boys, can we put the schoolyard squabbling aside for a moment? We did come here for something important.”
“Indeed.” Ashdown lifted a glass of water to his lips, then set it down again. “I hope you have good reason for summoning a High Council member in the middle of the night.”
“We do,” Abigail said emphatically. “And, ah, not to be rude, but where are the rest of you?” She stood on her tiptoes, peering into the apparition. “Didn’t you say there were thirteen of them?” she asked Titus.
Ashdown cleared his throat. “Ms. Silver, the Council does not constantly travel together like some roving band of hooligans. We have diverse interests and living arrangements across the globe. We are busy people.” He rotated his head toward Titus. “Very busy.”
“When a witch has need of the Council, they summon whichever members are available,” Titus explained to Abigail.
“An on-call Council?” She gave Titus the A-OK sign. “Groovy.”
“Do not make the mistake of thinking the Council is at your beck and call, Ms. Silver,” Ashdown said sharply. “We only congregate to discuss urgent matters involving the fate of witches.”
“Which is exactly why we’ve summoned you.” Titus went on to explain Cunningham and her potential plot. He carefully edited his and Abigail’s role in the warehouse fire, as well as other parts that would make them appear culpable.
“And so,” he finished, “we believe the culmination of all this will occur at ten o’clock tonight, when Cunningham executes her final plan, whatever it may be.”
Ashdown stared at them blankly. “Is that all?”
“Is that all?” Abigail echoed. “Isn’t that enough?”
“I think not.” Ashdown took another slow sip of water. “Thus far, I have heard nothing of concern.”
Titus stared at Ashdown, incredulous. “You must be joking. This mortal woman—Cunningham—is associating with powerful witches. Very powerful, if they can do the kinds of spells Gregson did.”
“But you don’t have reason to believe Gregson himself was even on the PIA’s radar.” Ashdown examined his flawless shirt cuff.
“Well,” Abigail said, “Arthur—the manager of the PIA’s London branch we mentioned—did ask who Gregson was when we were in the clock tower. Arthur should be up on all the mystical activity going on in the city. So if he’s never heard of Gregson, I doubt the rest of the PIA has.”
Titus shrugged. “So Gregson kept his nose clean and didn’t attract the PIA’s attention. Doesn’t surprise me. They can’t possibly keep track of every witch who ever walked the earth. But it doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved in something that could rain down hell on the rest of us.”
“The rest of us.” Ashdown sniffed. “It never ceases to amaze me, Aurelius, the way you lump yourself in with other witches.”
Titus gritted his teeth. Keep it up, Ashdown, he thought to himself, and the only one taking his lumps will be you.
“That’s because he is a witch.” Abigail folded her arms across her chest.
Ashdown rolled his eyes. “If you say so. Still, I don’t see any reason for the Council to get involved.” He stopped adjusting his cuff and folded his hands in front of him. “What I do see are a couple of imprudent types putting the Wiccan world at risk with their shenanigans. I see them getting dangerously close to a mortal organization that has the power to expose us. We don’t want to attract any more of their attention than you already have. I see them nearly breaking the masquerade on which all our lives depend. For gods’ sake, man.” He pinned Titus with a gaze. “Shattering the clock face at Big Ben? What were you thinking?”
“I told you,” Titus’s nostrils flared, “I was careful to keep myself and the others invisible.”
“Still, that is far too much publicity for my taste,” Ashdown said sharply. “For the Council’s taste.”
“But what if Cunningham’s stealing priceless, magical artifacts?” Abigail insisted. “Isn’t that important to . . . I don’t know . . . Wiccan history or anthropology or something?”
“As far as I know,” Ashdown said, “no witches have reported any magical implements missing.” He turned his stern gaze to Abigail. “And from what you learned during your little warehouse excursion, the items in question didn’t appear valuable. If you’re telling the truth.”
“We are!” she said. I don’t get it, she thought to Titus. Why doesn’t he just read my mind and see I’m not lying?
Because he wagers I’ve brainwashed you, implanted memories there, or both, he replied. Probably assumes our accusations are my attempt to lure him into a trap. He scratched his chin. Which is not a bad idea for the future, come to think of it.
Titus, be serious! Abigail begged. Why doesn’t he try to read your mind, then, so he can see you’re telling the truth?
Because he’d probably deem it a trick designed to hijack his thoughts, not that they’re worth hijacking. In his defense, it seems like something I’d attempt. He massaged the back of his neck. I should’ve known this would happen. Ashdown already has a problem with me, as you can see. No wonder he’s not listening.
And I suppose I’m guilty by association, thought Abigail.
He may suspect you want me to turn you into a vampire, and that you’ll say or do anything I ask to guarantee that.
Abigail made a face. He really doesn’t know me at all, does he? She turned back to Ashdown. “But what about the lives Cunningham said are at stake?” she asked. “Aren’t those valuable?”
“It depends on whose lives they are,” Ashdown said.
“NO, IT DOESN’T,” Abigail shouted. The lights above them flickered. Ashdown pressed his lips into a white line.
“The Council’s position on these matters is similar to that of vampires’.” Ashdown leaned back. “Something Mr. Aurelius will appreciate, I’m sure. Nature being as it is, and all that.” He gave T
itus a condescending smile. “When it comes to dealing with humans, I believe the mortal Charles Darwin had some insight on the matter. Rather bright for a member of that race.” Abigail snorted. Ashdown glanced at her, then cleared his throat. “The rule of ‘survival of the fittest’ often applies. Sometimes, you need to let these things take their course.”
“But the fact remains,” Titus said, “that this Cunningham woman may be planning something bigger involving witches. We just don’t know what.”
“While that is . . . interesting,” Ashdown remarked, “and regrettable, it does not change the fact that you’ve given little evidence to substantiate such a claim. The fate of witches does not appear to be at stake. The masquerade has not been breached. Yet.” His piercing gaze returned. “In fact, your interference in this scheme may put it at risk more than anything else.” He sat up straighter. “Therefore, it is the Council’s official recommendation that you both remain as far away from Eleanor Cunningham’s enterprise as possible.”
“That is a terrible recommendation,” Abigail said flatly. Titus simply glared at Ashdown, shoulders tense.
“In addition,” Ashdown continued, “I trust you both will give serious thought to what might happen if you waste the Council’s time again.” He narrowed his eyes. “And don’t think I don’t know it was you who set that warehouse fire, Aurelius.”
“I’d like to see you prove it.” Titus goaded Ashdown with a grin.
He knows? Abigail asked. How does he know?
Because, Titus replied, tempting as it is to insult his intelligence, Ashdown can’t rightfully be called an idiot.
Abigail fiddled with her earlobe. I wonder if he knows you killed Gregson.
Probably. I was the only one there who could have, besides the other vampires. But, as I said, he’ll never prove it.
Out loud, Titus posed a question to Ashdown. “Do you think the Council can at least look into the possibility of a scheme—one harmful to witches—by this Cunningham woman? I mean, if it’s not too inconvenient.”