Blackbird Broken (The Witch King's Crown Book 2)

by Keri Arthur

  I returned my gaze to the van. It wasn’t yet close enough to do anything about, and even if it was, I couldn’t react—not until everyone was out of the sewer.

  It crawled closer. Four people were now standing inside the yellow triangle, and the witch behind the destruction still hadn’t appeared. Maybe he wouldn’t; maybe they’d decided it’d be unwise to bring him out too close to the scene of so much destruction …

  But even as that thought crossed my mind, a small, youngish figure appeared. A halo of power surrounded him, but its force was muted. Spent. His skin had a gray tinge, and lines of dirt, or maybe even blood, trailed from the corners of his eyes. His face was gaunt and his shoulders so thin they looked pointed. Even his arms and chest … I stopped. Breasts. He was a she.

  Why that sent such a deep wave of anger through me, I couldn’t really say. It wasn’t as if she was the first witchling we’d come across, and she certainly wasn’t the first halfling. Maybe it was just the knowledge that the dark elves would no doubt use her for breeding purposes once she’d hit puberty—if they weren’t already doing so.

  I wished we could save her; I really did. But it was already far too late—and it wasn’t just the lack of both expression and animation in her demeanor telling me that. It was her tell—it ran deep with darkness. She hadn’t been as lucky as Jules—she’d been born and raised in Darkside. Its stain ran through all that she was.

  I silently sent the gods a prayer for her soul to be granted a happier life next time around. Then I shifted my weight and drew Vita. Fire ran along her edge and then flicked across to Nex. The two were connecting without me crossing their blades.

  The black van stopped in front of the barrier, much to the displeasure of the driver in the car behind him. As the horn blasted long and loud, the van’s window slipped down, and the driver made an obscene gesture at the car.

  Which did not go down well at all. The car’s driver got out and stalked toward the van, shaking his fists and screaming abuse. I quickly sent a thin streak of lightning at the van’s rear tire. It burst with a loud pop, making the car driver jump and swing around. The van driver climbed out and lumbered forward. He was a thickset giant of a man with fists the size of shovels.

  The car driver immediately held up his hands and backed away. The giant stalked to the tire, bent to study it, and then snapped upright, his gaze shooting across the road. I darted backward but not fast enough to prevent him spotting me. With a bellow that was fierce and bloodcurdling, he bolted forward, his thick features red with rage and his fists raised, ready for action.

  I raised the daggers, but a car hit him before I could unleash the lightning. He toppled over the hood but somehow managed to land on his feet. He spun around and was hit again, this time by a truck. It knocked him down and then ran over the top of him. He didn’t move.

  I had no idea if he was dead, and I didn’t really care. He was, for the moment at least, immobilized, and that was all that mattered. As the truck stopped and the driver got out, I darted across the road and pulled the black van’s side door open. There was no one in the passenger seat or in the back, so I continued on to the pavement—just in time to see Hecate dispatch the last of the halflings. The small girl was nowhere to be seen.

  Luc shook free of the shadows, Hecate gripped in his left hand. Blue fire sparked across her steel and burned away the blood splatter. His gaze swept me and came up relieved, but he nevertheless asked, “You okay?”

  “Yes. Where did the witchling go?”

  “Back down the sewer.” Ricker’s expression was grim. “I’ve called in reinforcements to go after her.”

  I frowned. “Why? Between the three of us, we should be able to find one little girl—”

  “Who could cause untold damage to both the sewers or the Underground if she’s cornered. We not only need a means of tracking her down fast, but also a way of countering whatever magic she attempts.”

  “But if we don’t get down there soon, we could lose her.”

  “We won’t.” Ricker’s gaze moved to Luc. “You two had better go. I’ll take care of this lot and deal with the cops.”

  “I’m working with the Preternatural Division at the moment, remember. It’ll be easier if I deal with the police.” Luc glanced at me. “But it probably would be better if you head back home.”

  I smiled. “You’re not going to get an argument out of me—”

  “That would be a first.”

  His voice was dry, and I smiled. “I have some papers to transcribe.”

  He glanced down at the scroll tucked into my belt. “Did you also grab Ricker’s notes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He fished the car keys out of his pocket and offered them to me.

  I raised an eyebrow. “I can fly, remember?”

  “It’s a damn long way, you’ll be carrying your daggers, and that will just exhaust you. Given Darkside are upping their attacks, that’s not a state you want to be in. So just humor me and take the damn keys.”

  I smiled and took the keys. “How do I get out of the parking lot without a pass?”

  “Ah. Hang on.” He did something on his phone, and a few seconds later, mine beeped. “Just flash that at the reader, and the gate will open.”

  “Thanks.” I resisted the urge to rise onto my toes and kiss him goodbye—and if the sudden flare of heat in his eyes was anything to go by, I wasn’t the only one thinking along those lines. I smiled, said goodbye to Ricker, and walked away.

  The drive home was long and tedious. I made multiple stops for coffee, chocolate, and bathroom breaks, so it was well after midnight by the time I pulled into the mansion’s driveway.

  The house lights came on as I parked, and a few seconds later, Henry appeared, looking utterly unruffled and unconcerned by my late arrival.

  “Good morning, Ms. Gwen,” he said, with absolutely no indication he’d probably been fast asleep only a few minutes ago. “Would you like a hot drink? Perhaps a late-night snack?”

  “Thanks, Henry, but I think I’ll just head up to bed.” I hesitated. “Did my aunt and friends arrive this evening?”

  “Yes. Ms. Moscelyne said she’ll meet you in the morning room for breakfast at nine.”

  I nodded, thanked him, and then headed up to the bedroom, where I stripped off, shoved my phone onto the charger and the daggers under my pillow, and climbed into bed. I was as grimy as all get-out, and I didn’t give a damn. Not this time. I was asleep three seconds after my head hit the pillow.

  Bright sunlight woke me who knew how many hours later. I blinked owlishly for the several seconds it took me to remember where the hell I was, and then stretched like a cat, feeling warm and rested. But also very hungry.

  I tossed the blankets off and padded into the bathroom for a shower. Once dry, I came back out to discover that not only had the cleaning fairy been in to grab my grimy pile of clothes, they’d left a small carryall sitting on top of the blanket box. Inside was an assortment of fresh clothes. Mo’s doing, rather than actual fairies or the maid.

  Once dressed, I grabbed the scroll and the notes and headed downstairs. Everyone else was already there, enjoying breakfast.

  “Morning all.” I nodded a thank-you to Henry as he seated me. Once he’d taken my order, I added, “How’s the butt, Barney?”

  “In full working order,” he said with a grin. “Although if your grandmother hadn’t pushed me off the rock when she did, more vital body parts could have been injured.”

  “Which is why I pushed,” Mo said, voice dry. “The butt I don’t care about. I do, on the other hand, have a deeply personal interest in keeping your knob in full working order.”

  “Well, isn’t this a fabulous conversation to have over breakfast,” Ginny said, clearly amused. “So much more interesting than listening to my mother drone on about babies and me needing to have them before I hit the crone years—which, in case anyone is interested, she insists start at thirty.”

  I tucked the old leather
scroll safely under my chair, then reached for a piece of toast and smothered it in butter and raspberry jam. “I thought you were dating the very lovely but very human detective in your division to shut her up?”

  “I am.” Her cheeks dimpled. “She’s less than pleased, but it hasn’t yet stopped her. It might take another few dates—which won’t be a hardship, let me assure you.”

  “Speaking of no hardship,” Mia said. “Where’s that luscious Blackbird of yours?”

  “Taking care of the mess in London.”

  Mo frowned. “What happened in London?”

  “You didn’t hear?” I asked, surprised.

  “Obviously not, if I’m asking the question.”

  Despite the seriousness of the whole situation, I couldn’t help grinning at the tartness in her tone. “Darkside attacked the Blackbird headquarters with an earth-powered witchling.”

  Mo sucked in a breath. “Many casualties?”

  “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t think so. We had enough warning to order an evacuation. I suspect their library and artifacts store is now buried under a mountain of rubble, however.”

  “Which might have been the whole point,” Barney said grimly. “The Blackbirds held the real coronation ring and crown, didn’t they?”

  “They certainly had the ring,” Mo said. “And it would be easy enough for demons or even elves to slip into a collapsing building and steal the thing—especially if one of their own controlled the collapse and kept it to certain areas.”

  “And if the building was utterly destroyed afterward,” Barney said, “it could take months before anyone realized it was missing.”

  “But why would anyone want to steal the coronation ring?” Mia asked, confusion evident. “It’s only a bit of jewelry left over from witch rule, and these days isn’t even used in actual coronations.”

  “There’s a theory the power of the sword can only be accessed by the crowned king.” Mo’s expression was contemplative. “I personally think the ring was not the sole intent of the attack, however.”

  “Taking out the Blackbirds does clear the path of opposition somewhat,” Barney said. “None of the other witch houses are as truly ready for battle as them.”

  “Yes, but I think it’s deeper than that.” Her gaze met mine. “Didn’t Gianna say that the new Witch King intended to resurrect witch rule?”

  It was interesting that she didn’t actually name Max. I could understand her not wanting Mia or Ginny to know, but surely Barney had to—he was the head of Ainslyn’s witch council, after all, and would by necessity be involved in any countermeasure we made against either Max or Darkside.

  “Yes,” I said, “but to do that, he has to attack the crown and the queen, and she’s still protected by Layton’s spell. No witch house has ever been able to break it.”

  “So there have been attempts to do so?” Mia asked, surprised.

  Mo nodded. “Three or four, at least, over the centuries.”

  “Then what makes you think the new Witch King will succeed where those others failed?” Ginny asked.

  “Because none of the others held the sword of power.”

  “And in reality, he might not, either,” I said.

  Mo’s gaze met mine. “Whether the sword he drew was the real thing or a substitute, it does hold power. We just don’t know what kind and whether the new claimant will be able to access it.”

  “So why don’t we ask the woman who made the king’s sword in the first place?” I said. “Surely she’d have some inkling of what the substitute is capable of.” Not to mention where the real thing was.

  “And just who made the sword?” Mia asked.

  “Vivienne—the Lady of the Lake,” Mo said. “Don’t they teach you anything in schools these days?”

  “Myths and legends are part of the primary school curriculum,” Ginny said. “But none of my teachers ever mentioned the fact she’s real.”

  “Well, she is,” I said. “And quite damn impressive too.”

  Mia’s eyes went wide. “You’ve met her?”

  I nodded and flashed Henry a smile of thanks as he placed my bacon and eggs down on the table. “She can lay down a scary fog like no other, let me tell you.”

  “If she still exists, how come no one knows about it?” Mia asked. “I mean, you’d think there’d be a whole religious industry developed around her presence.”

  “Which might just be why she’s kept her presence unknown,” Barney said, voice dry. “The old gods got over the whole ‘adoration and tributes’ thing centuries ago.”

  “I suspect that might have been forced on them thanks to humanity turning to more organized religions,” Mo said, clearly amused. “However, I agree it would be a good idea to speak with her as soon as we possibly can, even if it is not ideal to make such an attempt during the day.”

  “If the attempt fails, wait until evening,” Barney said. “There’s plenty of usable power at the end of a day—it should be enough to call her forth.”

  Mo nodded and patted his arm. It was a somewhat patronizing motion, though Barney didn’t seem to notice.

  “All of us?” Mia said hopefully, “Because I’d really love to meet an old goddess—”

  “I doubt she’d appreciate being called old, and it would be better if only Gwen and I attended her. There are plenty of other problems that need sorting out in the meantime.”

  “Like those notes we found in the church they blew up.” I reached under my chair and pulled out the scroll. “Luc’s cousin found the translating scroll.”

  Mia wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Wow, that smells old.”

  “It would be,” Barney said. “I think the last mention of the Darkside language being transcribed was by monks in the time of Aldred’s father.”

  He made a give-me motion, and I handed it over. He carefully unrolled it and then placed the notes to one side. “It’ll need stronger light than this, but it seems straightforward enough—it’s just a matter of switching Darkside symbols for various letters of the alphabet. It will take some time to get through all this paperwork, though.”

  “There’s a second lot on my phone,” I said. “I’ll shoot them across to you.”

  He nodded and glanced across the table. “If the three of us tackled the problem, it should only take days rather than weeks.”

  I frowned. “Ginny, don’t you have to work?”

  She shook her head. “Mo suggested I take a week off, just in case the fallout from the safe house debacle somehow found its way to my door.”

  Meaning Darkside—and probably Max—rather than any sanctions from her bosses.

  “And I,” Mia said, “will snatch any excuse not to be working at the bar. I love my parents and all, but I’ve never had a grand desire to learn the ropes and run the place after their death, no matter how much they want me to.”

  She’d also gone against the Lancaster tradition of selling spells to the general public that countered their personal and medical problems and had instead gone to university to train as an accountant. She generally only helped out at the bar over the winter period, when her taxation services were in less demand.

  And while I really didn’t want either Mia or Ginny involved in this mess any more than necessary, as Mo had already said, they were far safer here than anywhere else.

  Presuming, of course, Max didn’t have a means of finding us all. He might not be capable of that sort of magic himself, but simple tracking spells using hair or even a toothbrush were easy enough to purchase—especially in Ainslyn, where there were plenty of Lancaster witches selling magical goods and services.

  Trepidation stirred, though I wasn’t sure whether it was simple fear or a premonition of what was about to hit us.

  I really, really hoped it wasn’t the latter. Deep down in the stubborn part of my soul, I still desperately wanted to believe that, no matter what else he might be doing, he wouldn’t attack Mo or me. Wanted to believe that, in the end, blood ties would be stronger than the call
of darkness.

  After all, hadn’t he said not so long ago that he was working on a deal that would change our lives? Our lives, plural, which surely meant he wasn’t envisioning either of our deaths.

  “Then we have a plan,” Mo was saying. “While you’re finishing your breakfast, Gwen, I might lay a few redirection spells around the place—just in case.”

  Barney rose with her. “Let me throw in a couple—the more spells involved, the harder it’ll be to break through them.”

  The two of them left. I grabbed my cutlery and tucked into my breakfast.

  “I get the feeling there’s a whole lot of stuff you and Mo aren’t telling us.” Ginny studied me over the rim of her coffee mug. “The currents around you are a swirl of green and red, and that generally means stress and anger.”

  “I’m guessing the latter is aimed at Max,” Mia said. “Because he’s done his usual disappearing trick at a time when he’d be handy to have around.”

  “Oh, big flare of frustration and rage,” Ginny said. “Which means Max is definitely involved somewhere along the line.”

  I shoved some bacon into my mouth and munched on it for several seconds while I desperately figured how I could answer without actually lying. Ginny would pick up the latter and only push further. I had no idea why Mo wanted them out of the loop when it came to Max, but I wasn’t about to gainsay her until I’d at least asked her about it.

  “I think it’s fair to say I’m more than a little angry with him.” Which was nothing but the truth. “He hasn’t surfaced since the attack at Barney’s—hasn’t even contacted us.”

  “He may not be aware of that attack,” Mia said sensibly. “Or even how bad the situation is getting.”

  “This is Max we’re talking about.” There was an edge in my voice I couldn’t quite help. “If it happens in Ainslyn, he’s aware of it.”