Court of Darkness: A Demons of Fire and Night Novel (Institute of the Shadow Fae Book 2)

by C. N. Crawford

“I’m looking for nonfiction vampire books,” I said. “And if you happen to have a paper and pencil, I’m hoping to take some notes.”

  She reached into the pocket of her shimmering blue dress, and pulled out a little lined notepad and a pencil. She handed them to me.

  “Thank you.”

  “Follow me.” She nodded curtly, then zoomed across the library to an enormous archway, its shelves crammed full of books. I picked up my pace, hurrying to catch up with her. I swear she’d become even speedier since the last time I saw her. Reckless, even.

  Ruadan didn’t utter a word as we walked, and the fae guard simply stomped along behind us.

  The librarian hovered just above us, high in the archway. She peered down at us, then gestured at one of the walls.

  “Vampires,” she declared.

  My gaze roamed up and down the ancient books, and I randomly pulled one from the shelf, titled The Vampyre.

  I glanced back at the guard, who was staring at us, his blue eyes narrowed. The librarian whooshed over our heads at a speed that made my heart race. It was a wonder that woman didn’t injure herself.

  Standing next to Ruadan, I cracked open the book, and began jotting down my “notes.” I needed some answers.

  Why did you heal me, but only partway?

  He pointed at what I was writing. “You’ve got that wrong. Let me do it.”

  He snatched the notepad and pencil from me.

  You need to appear injured. Don’t trust anyone.

  I loosed a long, slow breath. I was still confused, and I snatched the pencil back.

  Why do I need to appear injured?

  I heard the guard take another step behind me, and I slammed the book shut before he could see what we’d been writing.

  The guard cleared his throat. “The trial begins soon, sir. Savus will exalt me if I defy his orders.”

  We’d never gotten around to that feeding part, and my stomach rumbled. And all I’d learned was that Ruadan was hiding things from the other Shadow Fae.

  Chapter 8

  We waited on a tiny street in London’s Smithfield, illuminated by the amber glow of a streetlight. The air felt heavy and damp, as if rain were going to fall.

  By ancient hospital walls, I stood between Melusine and Maddan. I smoothed out my clean black dress. On the way here, Ruadan had tossed me a chunk of stale bread. Better than nothing, I supposed. My bones and muscles still ached—but not nearly as much as they would if Ruadan hadn’t healed me.

  Maddan narrowed his eyes at me and growled. Considering what he’d done to me, he probably had no idea how I was standing at all.

  I ignored him, instead focusing on my surroundings. Centuries ago, this had been a place of execution—the very place where William Wallace had died a horrific death, just outside a medieval hospital. The place also where Bloody Mary had burned the Protestants. Here, the scent of human death had mingled with the offal and refuse of the butchery trade.

  We’d be bringing the death back to Smithfield in the form of another trial.

  Seemed a perfect way to spend a Saturday night, I supposed. I wasn’t entirely sure where we’d be going, but it was most likely the dark, medieval church on the other side of an ornate Tudor gate. It was the exact sort of creepy place a vampire would inhabit. They’d probably been in it for centuries.

  Mist flowed over the ground, and the hair on my arms stood on end. The fog itself formed eerie shapes, as if it were alive—wolves, lions, grasping fingers. The sound of footfalls echoed off the stone. Then, Grand Master Savus crossed in front of us, his fingers steepled.

  Thunder rumbled over the horizon, the boom skimming my skin.

  Ruadan walked behind Savus, his dark magic tingeing the mist with shadows. Tonight, Ruadan was acting as my prison guard, making sure I didn’t escape anywhere.

  Savus’s pale eyes bored into me. “You all know that you’re supposed to silently enter and kill in the shadows. Do not do anything that calls attention to yourselves. Kill when no one is looking. As soon as the vampires learn that Shadow Fae have entered their lair, they will descend upon you and feast like vultures on a corpse.”

  I blinked innocently. “Anything attention-grabbing, like stabbing the other novices with a reaping dagger? Like hurling lust magic at them? That sort of thing?”

  Savus didn’t answer, but he continued glaring at me.

  “Your task tonight is to enter their lair, and kill as many of the vampires as you can without the humans in their company realizing. This clan is at least five centuries old, and they believe London is their home. They are wrong. They should have fled for a magical realm years ago. We believe ten or fifteen vampires lurk in there. If you are capable of remaining in the shadows, you should be able to take them all on. If you are clumsy and expose your presence, you will all die.”

  I had a thin wooden stake jammed between my cleavage, which meant I had everything I needed to kill vampires. A simple hawthorn stake to the heart, and the vampires would be sent to the shadow void for all of eternity. Vampires weren’t nearly as difficult to kill as Ruadan, and I’d killed plenty in the arena. The only tricky part would be the “stick to the shadows” directive. And maybe the first hurdle of getting into their lair.

  In fact, I wasn’t entirely sure how Savus expected me to get into the church. The others—including Ruadan—could simply shadow-leap wherever they wanted. I didn’t have that advantage.

  Still, my time in the arena had taught me how vampires thought. Most vampire males would welcome an innocent female, seeing us as fresh blood. All I had to do was knock and make sure they didn’t notice the stake between my boobs, until it was too late.

  My objectives tonight: kill vampires, find alone time with Ruadan so I could interrogate him before someone tried to throw me back in the filthy piss hole.

  “Be warned,” said Savus, “the vampires have been living in horrific, depraved conditions. What you find in there might be worse than you imagined.”

  For a moment, a shudder whispered up my spine, but I quickly mastered control of myself. How bad could it be? A bit of blood, some horrible skull decor? A severed head and some rotting limbs here and there? I’d practically grown up around carnage. It didn’t scare me.

  “Now.” Something dark glinted in Savus’s eyes. “Go out there and slaughter.”

  Melusine and Maddan were off before I took my first step, shadow-leaping away. The flicker of movement by the old Tudor church gate told me they were slipping beneath its ancient arches into the cemetery. Heading for the medieval church, just as I’d thought.

  For a moment, I considered rushing after them as fast as I could limp on my hobbled legs, but I reconsidered. Their departure had been a little too hasty. None of us knew for certain that the vampires were in the old gothic church—it just seemed vampy.

  I stepped out of the shadows of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. I sniffed the air. Given all the shadow magic pulsing around us from Ruadan and the other novices, I couldn’t use that to pick up the scent of vampires.

  Thunder boomed again, lightning cracking the sky.

  The muscles barked in my legs, and I limped down a narrow road near the church, noting the street sign—Little Britain. A light rain began to fall, dampening my black dress.

  I sniffed the air again. Now, another smell hung in the air—one faint, but distinct. The coppery smell of human blood. I smiled. That’s how I would track the vampires, and it wasn’t coming from the church. I sniffed again, moving further down the narrow road. As I walked, Ruadan’s magic whispered over my skin from behind me.

  Lucky for me, I didn’t need to depend on speed. As the scent of blood intensified, I was increasingly sure that the others had gone in the wrong direction.

  I glanced behind me, irritated to find that Savus was staring at Ruadan and me from the mouth of the narrow street. I wouldn’t be able to speak to Ruadan with the Grand Master watching.

  I limped onward, until the scent of blood led me to a pub, the facade painted
with chipped brown and green paint. The place looked like a bit of a dump, with empty crates piled out front, and a few half-drunk pints.

  I could hardly make out the pub’s name. I looked closely and saw that the faint gold lettering above the door read The Garlic and Cross. Those things were not actually repellent to vampires, but maybe it was an in-joke. In any case, the scent told me I was in the right place.

  Then, to my utter horror, I noticed the hand-drawn, grammatically incorrect sign on the door. It heralded something I hoped I’d never have to encounter, something I’d spent years avoiding.

  Saturday! Open Mic Night. Comedian’s. Singer’s. Performance art. £5.

  I swallowed hard. Savus had been right. This was more depraved than I’d anticipated.

  And on top of it all, I had no money to get in. I’d been living in a bloody dungeon.

  I glanced at Ruadan. “I don’t suppose you have a fiver?”

  “I’m not allowed to help you. If the Old Gods favor you, then you will be able to succeed in the trials no matter what obstacles lie in your path.”

  “What exactly is the point of you?” I snapped.

  He narrowed his eyes, his dark magic lashing the air around him. “I’m the only thing keeping you alive.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His gaze slid back to Savus, who was lingering nearby, and he fell silent again.

  The rain had begun to fall harder, soaking my hair, and I hugged myself. I didn’t suppose I could simply kill the doorman. Might create a bit of a spectacle.

  No, I’d have to blag my way into the bar, because there was no way in hells I was volunteering as a performer.

  Now, the rain was really pouring down, soaking my clothing.

  Baleros’s fifteenth law of power: Always use your surroundings.

  I glanced across the street at another pub—The Crown and Two Chairmen. An idea started to form in my mind. I’d have to start there before I made my way into the vamp bar.

  I ignored Ruadan’s presence and pushed into the second pub. It was a Saturday night, and the place was completely full. Humans sat crammed around the old wooden tables, or lingered between them with pints. I could easily move unnoticed in here. I scanned the empty wineglasses and pints on the tables. Within moments, I was collecting them by the armful, acting like I worked in the place. If you appeared confident enough, no one questioned it.

  When I’d stuffed my arms full of the glassware, I crept out into the rain with my stolen bounty.

  Ruadan was waiting for me outside, his magic darkening the air. “What on Earth are you doing?”

  “Finding a way in before Prince Fuckwit figures out what the hells he’s doing.” I let some rainwater fill the glasses, and then I dumped the remnants onto the street. Clean.

  I snatched one of the old crates off the ground outside the pub—along with the pint glasses—and I crammed all the glassware into it. With a smile, I stood.

  I pulled open the door to the pub to reveal a rickety stairwell, and Ruadan followed behind me.

  I paused at the top of the stairs. As soon as the door creaked closed behind Ruadan, I turned to him. “Tell me what’s going on. Why didn’t you warn me about the prison cell?”

  “I didn’t know Savus was going to throw you in prison. And we don’t have time to discuss this now. Savus will be watching us through a scrying mirror. I’m going to hide myself.” His gaze sharpened. “Arianna, don’t do anything stupid. You can’t escape the Shadow Fae. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah, I get it. I’m a prisoner. Understood.”

  Shadows bloomed around Ruadan, and he was gone without another word.

  My jaw tightened, and I gripped my crate of glasses. Of course, Savus watched everything we did in the trials.

  I limped down the creaking stairs, already cringing at the sound of stilted comedy booming through the club.

  A human man sat at a desk at the bottom of the stairs, flicking through his mobile phone, utterly bored. When he saw me, he tapped his fingernails on the wood. “Five pounds, please, darling.”

  “Oh, I’m just here to deliver the glasses you wanted.” I had once again lapsed into an American accent, which seemed to happen every time I wanted to blag my way into a nightclub. I honestly couldn’t explain it.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Someone asked for more glasses?”

  If you acted confident enough, you could get away with anything.

  “Yeah. The owner. Said you were running out.” Standing tall, I began to step into the bar.

  “Hang on,” he grabbed my arm. “I’m the owner. What are you trying to pull?”

  My jaw tightened.

  Fuck it. Fuck it all to hells. I needed the Old Gods on my side, or I faced a grisly death.

  I cleared my throat. “I meant to say, the glasses are part of my act. It’s all…it’s all part of my act. I’m here to perform.”

  Chapter 9

  “Part of your act?” he repeated.

  My pulse raced. “It’s a glass-shattering act.”

  He stared at me. If I’d had a few more minutes to prepare, I probably would have come up with something a little more artistic than “glass-shattering.” Maybe those people who make music with the rims of glasses, or maybe some kind of glass-related dance routine. But I was short on time, short on talent, and as usual, my first and most powerful instinct was simply to break things.

  “It’s totally a thing,” I said in a voice suggesting that he was an idiot. “You haven’t heard of glass shattering?” I crinkled my forehead. “It’s huge in Brooklyn. You know, in New York. America.” Overdoing it. Tone it down, Arianna.

  He stroked his beard. “Of course I’ve heard of glass shattering.” He nodded at the man on the stage—a pale-skinned fellow in a flouncy shirt. “After this prick is done, you’re on. What’s your name, darling?”

  “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.