Angel Falls (Cassandra Bick Chronicles Book 3)

by Sinclair, Tracey

  I frowned at that: usually Medea’s magic would be the first line of defence, keeping them at a safe distance.

  ‘She’s on her way, she’s coming round the front,’ she sighed, her annoyance running out of steam. Then she noticed Jonesy. And the demolished kitchen, and her mouth fell open. Then she saw something in Cain’s face and the colour drained from her own.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ she asked me.

  ‘Honestly, it’d take more time and more alcohol than we have right now,’ I sighed. I could tell she was going to push further but then the doorbell went. Cain, unasked, went to answer it, and I heard him let Medea in.

  ‘So what’s so urgent, anyway?’ I asked, pulling Katie’s attention back from the voices in the hall.

  She looked at me, her face ashen.

  ‘Oh my God, don’t you know?’

  Well, that’s never a good answer.

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘I think we better put on the news. There’s been a terrorist attack on St Paul’s.’

  Chapter 15

  We all rushed to the living room, putting on the TV and switching on the laptop at the same time, barely a mumbled greeting to an ashen-faced Medea, who was so shaken she refrained from commenting that Laclos had blood smeared over his t-shirt from Aeylith’s attack, Cain looked like he’d been run over and there was an unfamiliar armed bloke in the flat. We hit the 24-hour news station when they were doing talking heads, so couldn’t get more than a ribbon of info across the screen, but the BBC news site was more helpful. An explosion in the grounds of St Paul’s Cathedral, which looked to have been only minor: no reports of casualties or structural damage, no one claiming responsibility. Of course, it could just be a coincidence that a bomb had gone off outside Laclos’ lair – though, Christ, how depressing is your life when you start hoping something is ‘only’ a terrorist attack – but this seemed unlikely. It’s a tourist spot in a central location, sure, but not at night: someone wanting to cause real problems would be more likely to hit the nearby bars in Paternoster Square, or one of the Tube or train stations nearby. I could tell, from their expressions, everyone else was thinking the same thing.

  ‘Is there another entrance into the crypt that we can access from a distance away from the main building?’ Cain asked, back to being all business. ‘Preferably one most people don’t know about.’

  Laclos was about to answer, but Jonesy interrupted.

  ‘Look, I hate to be the one everyone has to stop and explain the plot points to, again, but somebody want to clue me in on this?’ He waved a hand that took in not only the screens but Medea and Katie.

  ‘Medea, Katie – Wiccan, shifter, friends of Cass – engaged – Jonesy, hunter, friend of mine,’ Cain said, with his usual succinctness. ‘Laclos’ people have a lair in the crypt of St Paul’s.’

  ‘But I’ve been to the Crypt at St Paul’s. There’s no vampires there. It’s a restaurant.’

  ‘Other crypt. Beneath that one.’

  Jonesy pulled a disbelieving face, looking at Laclos.

  ‘Subtle.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Cain agreed, gruffly. ‘But there are people we know in there.’ He sighed. ‘Look, man, I know this all seems nuts to you, a hunter aligned with… all of this. But I promise you, we’re the good guys.’

  ‘Crazy, yeah,’ Jonesy muttered. ‘Maybe not that surprising.’

  ‘I’m just saying, there’s no dishonour here if you want to sit this one out. Stay here, look after my wife, make sure we don’t come back to any surprises.’

  Jonesy frowned. He may have the dazed look of a man who’d been slapped repeatedly with a wet towel, but he was still a hunter, and whatever history he and Cain had, clearly it mattered.

  ‘No. You need help, I’m there.’

  Cain nodded and, without another word, left the room. OK, then. Medea, Katie and I exchanged glances.

  ‘Cain’s wife is here?’ Medea frowned, concerned. I sighed.

  ‘It’s been a really long night.’

  ‘Doesn’t look like it’s going to be over any time soon,’ Katie scowled, trying not to notice the fact that Jonesy was singularly failing to hide his curiosity about the new arrivals and was pretty openly staring. I tried to think of a tactful way of suggesting Medea stay behind – it wasn’t that I thought she was helpless without magic, but I worried that she might rely on what had always been her first line of defence, and without it would be vulnerable. I saw the same concern in Katie’s eyes. But Medea was powerless, she wasn’t stupid, and with a loaded look at us both she sat heavily on the sofa.

  ‘I’ll stay with her then. Makes sense I should be the one who holds the fort. Not sure I can make small talk with a Valkyrie, mind.’

  I frowned at her.

  ‘I don’t think that’s going to be an issue.’

  ***

  Val was still stretched out on my bed. She looked pale, but her breath was steady, and Jonesy had wiped the blood from her eyes and mouth, so with her lids closed she looked undamaged, like a marble effigy on the tomb of some ancient goddess. Cain stood, arms folded, expression unreadable, as if by staring hard enough he could assess, or even undo, the damage. I wondered about what he had said earlier, about angels never ceasing to love – it explained a lot about their relationship, hundreds of years apart then a brief, fragmented reunion. I felt like I should be jealous – Cain and I spoke of many things, but we never talked of love – but all I could feel was pity. I couldn’t conceive of living like that, where love remains raw even after you’ve realised your marriage is over, after centuries of separation. Maybe that explained why Cain was so closed off with his emotions: mistakes would be costly, irreversible and eternal. Since one of my own past loves had only recently tried to murder me, I couldn’t imagine not having the solace of hatred or indifference. I’d made enough embarrassing gaffes in my own life – what I’d rack up given eternity to mess up didn’t bear thinking about.

  ‘How is she?’ I asked, gently. He looked up, frowning, as Medea crept in behind me.

  ‘Can’t you tell?’

  ‘I…’ realising he was genuinely asking, I put my hand on Val’s arm, and tried to roll my Sense over her. I was nervous that her power might have a similar effect on me to Cain’s – though I assumed he wouldn’t ask me to do this if he thought that were the case – but though my Sense skittered, slightly, at her strangeness, at the depth of her power, I realised that, goddess though she was, hers was a force on the wane. Maybe it was age, maybe it was that beings such as her are only as strong as the belief they foster, but she was no harder to read than a vampire, and my Sense picked up only that she was strong and healing, nothing more, though the taint of the angels made it recoil.

  ‘I …think she’s recovering,’ I ventured, and he nodded, looking relieved.

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ he said. ‘Seems vampire blood really is an all-purpose cure. Maybe I should try it myself sometime.’

  ‘I’m going to stay with her,’ Medea said. ‘Is there anything you want me to do?’

  ‘If she wakes, maybe one of your drinks? Preferably one that’ll keep her groggy enough to stop her trying to go on a revenge spree before we get back,’ he added, with a grimace, and Medea smiled.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Magic or not, she still had her tricks. Cain picked up the bag of weapons at his feet and, coming around the bed, laid a hand on Medea’s shoulder in thanks, and then he took my arm and led me into the hallway, pushing the bedroom door closed after him. I frowned at him, puzzled, but his face as he looked down at me was creased with concern.

  ‘I know none of this is easy for you, Cass. I should’ve warned you immortals come with a lot of baggage.’

  I touched his face, gently.

  ‘And I know none of this is your fault.’

  His mouth twitched at that, almost a smile.

  ‘Just remember, Cass, in all of this… remember who I chose. You were the one I came back for.’

  He leaned down and kissed me
, softly, briefly, but at his touch I strained forward, not willing to let him go. All of the tensions and the stress of the last few days – the last few hours – pushed us together, as we both realised how hungry we were for this contact, this release. His kiss deepened, his hold on me tightening, and I closed my eyes and allowed myself to be lost in the fierce safety of his arms.

  ‘Uh… sorry,’ there was a polite cough and I sprung away from Cain – though he didn’t seem in any hurry to let me go, whatever the interruption. Jonesy stood there, looking embarrassed.

  ‘It’s just the vampire’s getting antsy and the shape shifter is freaking me out a bit. I’m not used to being in a place where there are so many Others and I’m not allowed to shoot any of them.’

  ‘Wow,’ I said, smiling at Cain. ‘You two really are friends.’

  ‘I’m just saying, we should move before we run out of dark.’

  ‘Yeah. I’m ready.’ With a final, light kiss to the top of my head, Cain let me go and picked up his bag of guns again. ‘Let’s get this done.’

  Chapter 16

  After a quick bathroom break for Jonesy and me – they might never show these in the movies, but nobody wants to get caught needing the loo in the middle of a fight and we’d been putting away the alcohol and coffee at a prodigious rate – we headed off towards the cathedral. While we’d taken turns in the bathroom, Laclos had got changed: if there are police on the prowl, a blood stained shirt isn’t the wisest attire to be sporting (there was much muted grumbling at this, sensible as it was: Cain unhappy that the vampire had commandeered yet more of his clothes, Laclos put out at having to wear something that was about 50 times cheaper than his normal attire, and hung on him loosely, as Cain was slightly shorter than he was, but a lot more solidly built. I think Laclos considered anything that wasn’t skin-tight a bit pointless). It’s not a long walk from my flat, so we went on foot, reasoning that if there was any kind of terrorist activity suspected, the roads would be blocked anyway. I was aware I had a lot to catch Medea and Katie up on, but since Katie had decided to come along in dog form – reasoning it would be easier to change at my place than try and find somewhere else to do it unobserved – now wasn’t exactly the time, so we all walked in weighted silence, me with a gun tucked into my belt (hidden under my coat) and the bag Medea had brought with her that contained Katie’s clothes slung over one shoulder.

  The chaos was obvious as soon as we cut through Little Britain and the cathedral came into view. Despite the growing presence of bars and restaurants in Paternoster Square and the relatively recent shopping centre New Change, this was still a quietish part of London at night, but now the streets were cordoned off, yellow-jacketed police talking into radios while the inevitable onlookers – some clearly turfed from nearby buildings – took photos with their phones. I saw the police were armed, and I shuddered: though I was no stranger to guns myself, there would always be that part of me that, being English, meant armed police were a terrifying sight, a signal things were serious. We couldn’t get close to the cathedral or Paternoster Square, but while the surrounding areas were heavily policed, the roads were still open, and scrolling down the newsfeed on my phone I saw why. The news was good, at least for my city, if not for us. It’d been a small explosion, localised in the grounds, away from people or anything of particular value, so the assumption was now it was vandals at worst, or more likely an accident – tourists or kids messing about somewhere they shouldn’t be, or maybe some of the city’s increasing numbers of homeless using a gas canister or a portable barbeque to cook. Accordingly, the police presence was already winding down, and some of the neighbouring bars were reopening, the English reaction to suspected terrorism and / or disaster always being to go to the pub – despite the fact this already felt like the longest night of my life, when I looked at my watch I was surprised to realise we still had an hour or so till most places would be starting to close up. While this development made it more likely it had been a vampire attack, it also meant instead of being scrutinised, our approach was now covered by the bustle of the area trying to get back to normal after one of the periodic false alarms that plagued the city.

  I relayed this as we skirted the long way round the cathedral towards the river and the Millennium Bridge. We passed a couple of mounted police and the horses skittered, reacting instinctively to both Katie and Laclos. One of the coppers glared at us, and I linked my arm through Cain’s, swaying and laughing a little too loudly, just a tipsy girl excited by all the commotion. However fierce Cain and Jonesy looked, it was clear the policeman thought nobody could be that much trouble if they were hanging out with a giggly girl and her lanky Goth mate, so he dismissed us from his notice, turning his attention back to the street. Jonesy leaned in and read the latest update on my phone as I held it up.

  ‘Thank God there are no casualties, at least,’ he said. Laclos glanced back at the cathedral, his mouth set in a grim line.

  ‘No human casualties.’

  ***

  Despite the many times I’d been to Laclos’ lair – and given that it was based in a crypt beneath a crypt, and featured a main chamber bigger than most people’s entire houses, I felt it earned the title ‘lair’ – I’d never been beyond that main room, but I was unsurprised to find that the place had more than one exit. London was a city that built on itself and survived many turbulent times, so there were plenty of secret tunnels and cellars, and who builds a secret hideout with only a front door? Still, I was curious when we paused by the doors of an olde-worlde-looking pub on the banks of the Thames, only a few minutes’ walk from both the cathedral and the Millennium Bridge, though looking to date far more from the time of the former than the latter. This looked like the kind of place Falstaff might have got drunk with Hal, or Dickens might have enjoyed a pint; low wooden ceilings, small, stained glass windows, a general air of history and decay. It was cramped and busy, clearly catering for the overflow of displaced drinkers, but people somehow still managed to get out of Cain’s way as he pushed through the front room, Laclos steering him with a guiding hand on his shoulder. I half expected someone to protest at Katie’s presence, but then again, old pubs and big dogs go together like beer and pork scratchings, and it was clear her main problem was avoiding being petted by kindly drunks. Through the main bar then past the snug, we came to the stairs that led to the toilets – as in most London pubs, these were in the basement to minimise their drain on premium floorspace. We followed Laclos down the narrow stairs, past the ladies and what was clearly a cellar, to an ancient looking door bearing a tattered sign that read, in copperplate calligraphy, ‘Staff only’.

  ‘The landlord and I have an agreement,’ Laclos murmured, by way of explanation, as he pushed the door and it opened smoothly to his touch. ‘I convinced the licensing authorities to be… flexible with his opening hours, which grants us more convenient access.’

  ‘Aren’t you worried about some pissed up tourist mistaking it for the gents?’ Jonesy asked, which had been my next question.

  ‘It’s usually guarded. From the inside.’

  Ah, OK. So this didn’t bode well.

  Laclos was about to head in but Cain pulled him back.

  ‘Cass, can you Sense anything?’

  Jonesy looked puzzled at this question – I really was starting to feel a bit sorry for him, we maybe should have put together a primer of some sort – but I stepped forward, both surprised and a little flattered at Cain’s new willingness to trust my Sense. I closed my eyes and tried to focus, letting it roll out in front of me, trying to screen out the distraction of Cain and Laclos so close to me, one fire and one ice, as opposite to my Sense as in life. The age of the building didn’t help, either, old stone soaked with history. I caught a flash of fear, of fleeing and I jerked backwards, alarmed, before I realised the likelihood that our enemies hadn’t been hiding from anti-Catholic riots or Nazi bombs, so it wasn’t their emotions I was picking up on. But other than the faintest trace of Other that told me a va
mpire had been here relatively recently, there was nothing.

  ‘I’m not picking up on anything. I think it’s empty.’

  Cain nodded.

  ‘Katie, take point. If you see anything, shift small and get out of there till we can regroup. Laclos and I will follow. Cass, keep your Sense as open as you can but stay behind me, and be ready to leave us if you need to. Jonesy, watch our backs.’ He turned to Laclos with a wry smile. ‘Cos I’m guessing this isn’t just a straightforward tunnel to your place, is it?’

  Laclos gave a rueful shrug.

  ‘Darling, we’re vampires. We don’t do straightforward.’

  ***

  Our odd little huddle moved forward – or, at least, we did after an awkward moment where Jonesy and I had to remind them we didn’t have supernatural eyesight so if they wanted us not to go arse over tit in the darkness we needed some illumination, and Cain dug a couple of torches out of his bag. Katie, freed from human eyes, had changed into her preferred leopard form, her golden fur dappling in the beams from our flashlights as she moved silently ahead of us, alert to any threat.

  The tunnel was dark and damp, as you’d expect this close to the Thames, but it clearly wasn’t unused: the walls were lined with wire-caged bulbs set into the stone at regular intervals so they could be switched on to allow safe human passage. There were also, unnervingly, lots of little alcoves set into the walls, side hatches and occasional narrow bends heading off into God knows where. Plenty of places for enemies to hide, and I couldn’t help thinking this would be the perfect place to stage an ambush: you wouldn’t even have to bother hiding the bodies. But we made our way unmolested, my Sense picking up nothing but – oh goody – some rats, though Katie’s presence at least meant any rodents kept a safe distance. A couple of times she nearly took a wrong turn, and Laclos steered her back with a murmured direction. He looked oddly distracted and not, I thought, merely because he was worried about what we would find at the end of the tunnel. I saw him stare at the stone occasionally, as if trying to read something written there, though when he saw me notice he was careful to rearrange his features into a more neutral expression.