by M. J. Scott
The side of her mouth lifted. Close to a smile. It made my heart beat a little faster. Which made me, in turn, wish to beat my head against the window of the ’cab. I needed to guard myself. She was going to leave and she wouldn’t care if she had to walk over my bleeding body to do so. Especially once she learned what I wanted her to do.
I’d wanted to set her free. And that must, by sheer logic if nothing else, include allowing her to be free of me, should she so choose. Though likely Guy wouldn’t see it that way.
“Maybe that was all part of my elaborate plan,” Lily said.
Was that a joke? I allowed myself a small slice of hope. Humor. A sign that, maybe, something survived under all the ice despite Lucius’ best efforts. That I wasn’t being ruled by my body and there might well be truth to my instincts about her. If I could make her smile, then I might be able to find a chink in her armor and get through to the real Lily below. “I didn’t think Lucius was the elaborate plan type.”
Her face grew still. “Don’t underestimate Lucius,” she said. “He always gets what he wants.”
Not this time. At least not while I had anything to say about it. “We’ll take care of you,” I repeated.
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”
“Lily, I’m a healer in this city. My brother is a Templar. I’m not, by any definition of the word, naive about what goes on in the Night World. And I’m not helpless.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“Good. Remember that.” I braced myself as the ’cab hit a particularly bad pothole. I appreciated the extra speed a’cab offered but was yet to be convinced that the clattering, steam-belching machines were superior in any other way to carriages.
Lily slid a little on the seat but caught herself. She pushed herself back toward the door with a frown. “Regardless, the shields are pointless.”
“Why?”
“You’re taking me to St. Giles. Don’t you have Fae working there?”
“Yes. And?”
“Any Fae who sees me will know what I am. They’ll know who I am. Once the Veiled Court knows where I am, it won’t take long for word to spread.”
Sun’s blazing balls. I’d forgotten that part. Fae who could sense human magic in the next room could probably feel a wraith at a thousand paces. But if Lily claimed Haven, then everyone in St. Giles was bound to render her assistance. Which included keeping their mouths shut about her whereabouts. It wouldn’t last forever. Leaks were bound to happen—after all, someone had told Lucius something to make him want me dead—but it might buy us enough time. There were plenty of places in the hospital where we could keep her relatively isolated.
“The hospital staff will respect Haven laws.” I’d just have to keep her away from the patients and visitors.
That earned me a headshake. “The humans will not thank you for bringing me there, the Fae even less so. Even if Lucius respects the rules, what happens next? I can’t spend my life in a Haven.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m going to ask Guy whether he did drop you on your head after all.”
“My head is just fine.”
“Then what is your explanation, sunstroke?”
“Trust me, there has never, in the history of the world, been a sunmage who got sunstroke.” That much was truth. The sun couldn’t hurt me. Not my skin. Not my head. But if sunlight couldn’t hurt me, it was becoming more apparent with every passing second that, if I weren’t careful, Lily likely would.
Something about her tugged at me. Which was more than crazy. I needed to be careful. Not let my instincts run away with me. Right now she sat beside me under sufferance.
Part of me knew she’d run if given the chance.
The question was how to make her feel like she didn’t need to. It would take caution and finesse. Like trying to coax a wild thing close, I needed her to trust me before I let her know what I wanted from her. And before I could think of there being . . . anything more.
I shifted on the seat as the ’cab hit another pothole, sliding toward Lily a little. She shrank away.
Proof positive that she didn’t trust me at all. My jaw tightened. “Why is it so hard to believe that I want to help you?”
“Because people don’t just help others for no reason. They’re all playing their angles. The sane ones anyway.”
Guilt tugged again. Those gray eyes saw too clearly. “Is that what you’re doing? Playing the angles?”
A shrug. “At this point I’m mostly trying to just keep breathing.”
“That’s what I want too. I’m on your side.”
She cocked her head, considering. “You’re playing your own angle too.”
“Who says I have one?” I hoped she wouldn’t see the lie in my face or the guilt. I wasn’t ready to show my hand just yet.
“Like I said, there’s always an angle. How does this story go in your head, Simon? You rescue the poor trapped creature and in gratitude she falls into your bed?”
Maybe part of it went something like that. But I wasn’t lack-witted enough to say that out loud at least. “No.”
“You’re lying.”
Suns. Could she actually tell? She was half Fae, after all. Or was she bluffing? I chose to believe the latter. “I’ve never had any trouble filling my bed, sugar.” I let my accent stretch into a parody of Guy’s Territory-tinged drawl. “I don’t need to chase the unwilling. You need to trust me.”
Her face suggested she wasn’t fooled. “Why?”
“Well, so far I haven’t killed you or even tried to kill you,” I offered. “Nor has my brother tried to kill you. I will point out that you, in fact, have tried to kill me. I also saved you at Halcyon. I think I’ve earned a little trust.”
“I—”
Her words cut off as the ’cab screeched to a halt. I threw an arm forward to brace against the seat, and the impact jolted through me like a thump from one of Guy’s wooden training blades. I let the shields fall. “What the hell was that?”
The driver looked pale. “There was someone—something—in the road.”
Gods and fucking suns. This day was only hours old and it was nothing but one disaster after another. “Did you hit them?”
“Don’t know. I can’t see anybody.”
I leaned forward trying to see out the windshield. Unfortunately, the ’cab was a Mercury, long nosed and bulky, and it was impossible to see if anyone lay on the road near the front tires. I reached for the door handle.
Lily’s hand clamped round my arm. “Don’t go out there.”
“Someone could be hurt.”
“It could be set up.”
She was right, of course. But still. I couldn’t take the risk. “I’m a healer,” I said shortly. “This is what I’m sworn to do.”
“What? Get killed?” Lily snarled. I ignored her and pushed the door open.
I reached Simon just as he started to bend toward the motionless man lying in the road in front of the cab and grabbed his jacket, wrenching him back. “No.”
“He’s hurt.”
There was blood on the man’s face, true. Trouble was, to me, that blood smelled of Beast Kind. Earthy and musky and wild. Dangerous.
My spine crawled again. Watchers. Just the bystanders rapidly gathering or were there other Beasts nearby?
“Let the driver dealer with it. We should go.” I looked around. A small crowd was forming around us and ’cabs, carriages, and other traffic halting behind our ’cab. All humans as far as I could tell, not the too-tall figures of Beasts in human form. Still, too many people. Too exposed.
We’d stopped opposite a row of crowded brick terraces, the paintwork on the windows and doors peeling and stained. Definitely still a border borough, though I wasn’t sure which one. “We should go,” I repeated.
Simon shook me off. “I can’t leave someone lying hurt in the road.”
“He’ll be fine,” I said. I kept one eye on the body and another on the crowd. Farther down the road the terraces changed to what looked like
shops and maybe a livery. Faces were peering out the windows, and the crowd around us was thickening.
“What, you’re a healer now?”
“He’s breathing. There are plenty of people here to help. He’ll be fine.” I lowered my voice. “He’s Beast Kind.”
Simon raised his chin, determination clear on his face. “I don’t leave when people need help.”
His voice was disapproving. I had a sudden flash of him asking me whether I had come to kill him because of him stitching up a Rousselline pup. Idiot man. He truly didn’t care that the man lying there might be a Beast. He only cared that he could help. “This is a trap,” I hissed, drawing my dagger.
Simon ignored me and moved closer to the prone body. The man’s chest rose and fell slowly. Apart from the blood on his face, I couldn’t see any wounds. The stink of Beast filled my nose. If the man wasn’t Beast Kind, then he’d doused himself in Beast Kind blood.
I drew my dagger, watching carefully for any sign of movement. Simon had shoved the pistol into his belt. My hand itched, wanting the extra weapon badly.
Simon squatted beside the man, then reached down toward his wrist. I moved before I knew what I was moving for, but I was still too slow. The Beast sat up with a roar, his hand starting to twist and change as he swung for Simon. I threw myself forward, trying to push Simon out of the way as I reached for the gun.
Too slow.
The Beast hit Simon in the chest, knocking him backward. I half-fell, what I’d been reaching for suddenly not there. Lucky for me, as my crouched position meant the Beast’s backhand missed me, whistling over my head.
I had time to register the fact that his hand was now sprouting a nasty set of claws before I pushed myself up and forward to where Simon was rolling to a stop.
I didn’t know if he was hurt. I couldn’t see blood, so I guessed it was lucky that the Beast hadn’t fully changed his hand before he’d hit Simon. Simon started to rise, diving for the gun, which had fallen free at some point.
This time I was faster. I had to be. Simon was unlikely to survive a direct hit from those claws to any vulnerable part of his body. I at least was wearing leather and had the advantage of speed and strength and faster healing.
My hand closed around the gun and I spun as I straightened, bringing it up to shoulder level.
The Beast was close, too close. He screamed at me, making a sound a human throat shouldn’t be able to voice as he swung again with those claws. I dodged but not quite fast enough. His paw connected, claws slicing through my vest and tearing the skin beneath.
He got my torso, not my arm, knocking me off balance, but I kept my feet and my grip on the gun. As the Beast screamed again, I raised the pistol and put a bullet straight through the middle of his forehead.
Chapter Seven
The Beast dropped where it stood, its face frozen midchange. The scream choked into a gurgle that died by the time the sodden thump of the body hitting the cobbles sounded. Apparently Guy used silver bullets. Suddenly I felt quite friendly toward the Templars. But I wasn’t taking any chances. I kept the gun aimed at the Beast, debating the need for a second shot.
The size of the hole in the Beast’s head suggested not, as did the rapidly spreading pool of blood around the body. A very old vampire might be able to heal such a wound, but I doubted a Beast could.
Still, it couldn’t hurt to make sure. I prodded the corpse with my foot. Nothing.
“What are you doing?” Simon said as I bent toward the Beast, gun still at the ready. His voice sounded very loud. I realized the crowd had gone quiet. Several of the horses were snorting uneasily, their hooves beating a nervous tattoo on the cobbles, but the people were silent.
Shocked silent or “let’s form an angry mob and attack the killer with the gun” silent?
“Making sure I finished the job,” I said, loud enough for it to carry clearly to those watching. If they were feeling intimidated, I needed them to stay that way. If they weren’t, well, I’d best make sure that changed.
Before Simon could protest, I drew the dagger with my free hand and laid it across the Beast’s throat. The Fae do good work. My dagger slid, as usual, through skin and cartilage and bone like butter, separating the head from the body. The head, frozen midchange in a hideous mix of wolf and man, toppled sideways with another dull thump.
The noise made my stomach swoop. Generally, I kill with a single stroke to the heart. Noiseless. Fast. Blood flowed from the stump, joining the pool gathered under the body, horribly bright in the sunlight. I set my teeth, willing myself not to react as the smell hit me. Simon sucked in a sudden breath, stepping backward. Apparently I wasn’t the only one disturbed by my actions.
The blood reeked of Beast. Behind me, hoofbeats clattered as one of the horses squealed; then someone cursed viciously, presumably trying to calm the animal.
Wrinkling my nose, I flipped the corpse’s coat open with my dagger, looking for weapons. Praise the Lady, there was a pistol shoved in his waistband. I looked up at Simon and held out his gun. He stared at it for a moment, then took it.
I yanked the Beast’s gun free, checked that it was loaded—normal bullets, which was unfortunate but better than nothing—then wiped my dagger clean on the coat. I half straightened and turned my attention from the dead Beast to the crowd, trying to read their mood. They were, thus far, giving us plenty of space. Good. There wasn’t much point attempting to move the body. Not with this many witnesses. Even if we did, the blood would tell its own story.
Trouble was, Lucius would most likely take it to read something along the lines of “try to kill them harder next time.”
I stood up fully and had to hide a wincing gasp. Now that my initial rush of adrenaline was wearing off, the wound on my side throbbed like seven hells and I realized I was bleeding.
Not good.
It was one thing for the Beast’s blood to be found. It was another entirely for mine to be found with it. Still, there was nothing I could do about it right now.
“We should leave,” I said to Simon, keeping my free hand pressed to my side. I held the pistol at the ready in the other. “Likely his pack mates will be on their way. They will have felt the death.”
Simon stared down at the body, looking pale. “Shouldn’t we . . .”
“No. There’s nothing you can do here.” I didn’t care how good a healer he was; he couldn’t reattach somebody’s head. Nor did I want him to. “Let’s go.”
We didn’t have time for niceties. He needed to understand the reality of the situation we were in. Maybe then he’d finally agree it would be best if I didn’t stay.
Behind me steam hissed as the ’cab chugged into life. I twisted and bit down a curse. Apparently our driver agreed with my desire for a strategic retreat. He seemed equally determined that we wouldn’t be going with him as he reversed the ’cab away speedily, eyes wild as he stared at me through the windshield.
So much for that method of getaway.
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing. He’d gotten a pretty good look at our faces.
As had the rest of the crowd, though right now they were mostly focused on the body, various expressions of shock, distaste, and avid curiosity on their faces. Judging by the well-worn and grubby clothes most of them wore, they weren’t necessarily the sort who’d be too keen to talk to the authorities if they turned up. And hopefully, as residents of the border boroughs, sensible enough to avoid getting caught up in Night World battles.
I pulled at Simon’s arm. “We need to leave.”
“You’re hurt,” he said.
“Let’s worry about that later.” The wound burned and oozed, but it wasn’t bleeding heavily. Hopefully I wouldn’t leave a blood trail.
The Beasts might track us anyway, but why make it easier for them? I started walking away from the crowd, then forced myself to break into a run. We needed distance between us and the body.
“We need to get St. Giles,” Simon said, keeping pace with me. If he was hurt, he w
asn’t showing it. Yet the Beast had hit him solidly. If he was unharmed he was very, very lucky.
If he wasn’t, then any number of things could be happening internally, but I couldn’t do anything about any of them. I couldn’t smell human blood and there didn’t seem to be any spreading stains on the dark blue cloth of his jacket. In fact, apart from the dust on his back where he’d fallen, he looked almost as neat as when we’d left Guy’s. Whereas I had added torn and bleeding to stinking and rumpled.
Hells.
“No. They could predict we might head there. We need somewhere not connected to you. Somewhere unexpected. Preferably warded.”
Not an easy thing to produce in this part of town. I quickened my pace and almost immediately regretted it as I slipped in some horse dung on the cobbles and stumbled, arms flailing to keep my balance. The movement felt as though someone had driven a red-hot iron spike into my side, and for a moment, my vision darkened.
Simon caught my elbow, then pulled us into the shadow of a narrow alley, leading me straight into another pile of dung in the process. The grassy stench rose around us, combining with the smell of rotten garbage and rat piss in the alley, not helping my attempts to breathe deeply and drive away the pain. But the stink was probably a good thing. It might hide our scent. At this time of year, the summer heat kept the streets mostly dry, no rain to turn the rubbish and worse littering them to muddy slush or to wash away our trail.
“Let me see that,” he said, reaching toward my hand where it pressed against my side.
I stepped back. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not. You look as though you’re going to faint.”
“I don’t faint.” Though right now I wasn’t entirely certain that it wasn’t a possibility. The wound hurt much more and the fabric of my shirt seemed wetter beneath my hand. Had I torn something when I’d slipped?
“We’re going to St. Giles,” he said. “It’s the safest option.”