by Peter Dawes
“Perhaps not, but staying here will only leave us at his mercy. If I am damned either way, I would prefer it to be on my terms.” I offered as reassuring of a smile as I could. “He could have captured me when he took Robin. He might have hesitated to provoke the Order further. I do not know. But one way or another, I have a feeling I am going to be at his mercy when he determines the time is right. It is a question of controlling the landing, not preventing the fall.”
“Wise.” Evie sighed, glancing over her shoulder toward where Richard stood in the kitchen, sorting through mail. Looking back at me, her voice rose, drawing him into the discussion. “Let Richard drive you to your meeting. That way, if something goes awry, you’re not waiting for a taxi or the Underground to get you to safety. I have a feeling that sitting still isn’t going to be an option soon.”
“My only hope is that Robin provides us a path to walk.”
Richard strode toward us, setting down the stack of letters beside Evie while exchanging a lingering look with her. Whatever message she relayed with the way she looked at him, he seemed to read without hesitation and once the unspoken words had been received, he walked to where he had left his keys and waited patiently for me. I, on the other hand, trained my sights on her while fumbling for words.
She remained a stranger, and still something of an enigma, and though I knew her assistance was partly driven by selfish motivations, I could not tell how much. Drawing a deep breath inward, I finally said, “Thank you for everything, Evie,” satisfied that it communicated, at the barest minimum, my genuine gratitude. I felt tempted to add that involving her any further ran the risk of endangering her welfare, though something told me she knew that. Whether she remained my ally, or revealed herself only self-serving, I trusted she would inform me when she had reached her limit.
As such, I thought no further on it as I directed Richard toward the park. Circling the block revealed the one café which bordered the public square, and once we had confirmed this, Richard parked his car in the nearest empty spot. I emerged the moment the vehicle stopped, leaving the driver behind and paying only passing attention to the sound of the ignition shutting off. At that point, he became little more than a distant notion. The moment I saw Julian, I focused entirely on him.
The German seer spotted me shortly after. Rather than wait for me to come to him, though, he sprang to his feet, finishing off the last of a coffee while doing so. He set the cup back down, leaving his table abandoned and glancing around the immediate area while quickening his pace. I paused mid-stride, giving him a chance to approach me.
When he did, he touched my arm, gesturing me back in the direction of the car. “We aren’t staying here.” His eyes shifted nervously around, a strange crackle of energy from him indicating his gifts were in use. I made the passing observation that he had concealed his weaponry much the same as I had, his coat showing the bump where his crossbow hung from its sling; the quiver on his thigh visible during certain points in his stride. It led me to wonder if we were still wary of each other, or would feel strange unarmed. “How did you get here?” he asked, adjusting the strap of a satchel he wore over it all.
“Driver.” I nodded in the direction of the car where Richard sat.
“Can they be trusted?”
“They have yet to prove themselves untrustworthy, at the least.” We shifted our trajectory, headed for the car. As we did, Richard sat up straighter, turning on the ignition again. “Do we have a problem?”
“You do. I’ll explain in the car.”
I nodded, lapsing into silence with him as he opened the back door and freed himself of his satchel. While he slid into the car, I walked around to the front passenger door and entered the vehicle again, pausing to adjust my sword before twisting to look at Julian. “Where should we go?” I asked.
“Anywhere else. Somewhere public, for now. At least, until we know we aren’t being followed.”
Casting a quick glance at Richard, I relaxed when he nodded and pulled into traffic. We drove around for a few minutes in silence, until he declared, “I haven’t seen anyone following us.”
“So far, so good,” Julian said, offering nothing else for an additional few moments. As I peered at him, using the rearview mirror to do so, I thought I might have to be the one prodding him for an explanation. He glanced up at me, however, before I could say anything. “They’re gathering the hounds,” he began. “I managed to get the book, but it won’t take them long to notice it’s missing.”
I frowned. “Have you placed yourself at risk now?”
“They won’t suspect I was the one who stole it.” He laughed, the sound breathed low and without amusement. “He has us scrambling. The way I assume he wanted it. Enough people wander in and out that they’ll think it’s been misplaced.”
“Who has you scrambling? Patrick?”
“Yes, him.” Julian sighed. “I tried to argue that he manipulated us into believing you were the enemy, but nobody listened. James Berwick, my handler, believes you approached us for ‘help’ –” Julian lifted both hands, using them to form air quotes around the word. “– to spy on us and set us up to steal the relic.”
“I do not know if I should be honored they think me that cunning or that stupid – to plant incriminating evidence against my brother and orchestrate a scenario in which they hunted me down.”
“Your adversary managed it,” Richard interjected it. “If you’ll forgive me playing devil’s advocate.”
“Yes, but I am not Patrick,” I said. “For each move he has made, I can guarantee he has anticipated three others he could take in case it did not pan out. That he has carried us this far demonstrates the challenge we face.”
Richard nodded and Julian muttered something in German, directing our attention back to him. He glanced out the window and, using his reflection, I watched a host of thoughts play out across his expression before he settled on the right words. “They’re not going to hear your side of the story,” he said. “The only mercy I think you have is that they’re still talking about detaining, and not killing.”
“Defeating Patrick is the only thing that is going to put me back in their good graces.”
“I don’t even know that.” He frowned, using the mirror as well to meet my gaze. “I might warn you to run again when this all ends.”
Our eyes remained locked for a moment while Julian underscored the severity of what he had said. I nodded, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly; attempting not to be held hostage by my own fear. “What are they currently doing?” I asked, aware of how little could be done to change the situation, but curious nonetheless.
Julian adjusted the way he was sitting, in recognition of the shift which had taken place. While Richard drove toward the heart of the city, Julian explained that the Order would swiftly be searching through London, from Whitechapel eastward in search of where I had disappeared. “Seers have been deployed to Heathrow and the train stations, looking for you. I was supposed to be one of them. They believe you haven’t left the city yet, but are smart enough to know you might leave soon.”
“Which gives us a short amount of time with which to depart, but a window of opportunity where the Order might not interfere elsewhere, if we can manage past.” We approached a small block of shops, and while I had lost track of what portion of the city we had entered, the neighborhood looked quaint, and sparsely populated. Richard pulled into a parking spot, in front of a nondescript tavern like the one in which I had hid two nights beforehand. I stole a final glance at Julian. “I’ll make sure you return with the book. Give me a few minutes with it and you can be on your way.”
He nodded. “I needed a drink anyway.” Reaching for his satchel, he adjusted his weaponry and emerged from the vehicle. When he had shut his door, I turned my attention to Richard, lowering my voice when I spoke.
“Please contact Evie,” I said, “And tell her I need private transportation. I’m not sure where to yet, but I have a feeling I am going to need
to take Katerina and leave London before the night is out.”
Richard nodded. “Would you like me to retrieve Katerina for you?” he asked. “Your friend might not be able to lie about where he’s been when he returns to his employers. If I fetch her, I can take you both directly to the airport.”
“At the risk of being left without an easy means to flee, yes. I think that would be wise.”
“Send Ms. Stanton a text if you need to leave before I return.” He glanced up at the building first, then craned his neck to peer down the street. “Further down Warwick,” he said, pointing in the direction he was looking, “You’ll run into Nevern Square. Get yourself to the western side of it and I’ll be waiting there. Shouldn’t take me more than ten minutes after you text.”
“And if I cannot wait?”
He shrugged. “Further east and you’ll reach the Earl’s Court station, but it sounds like the Underground isn’t your safest option.” Richard held my gaze, raising an eyebrow. “Ten minutes. That’s all I’ll need.”
I did not know how he could invest such certainty in the figure, but I nodded in agreement, in part due to the contingency plan he had offered. “Thank you, Richard,” I said. “I will see you shortly.”
Returning my nod, he remained silent otherwise, watching as I exited the vehicle. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I strolled past a man seated outside the establishment, panhandling for money, and paid him no further mind. My fingers motioned to the buttons of my coat, securing it closed, while I walked to where Julian lingered, waiting. “He will return,” I said when Julian gave the departing car a curious look. “I sent him to retrieve a friend and make travel arrangements.”
“Heathrow isn’t –”
“Elsewhere. I promise. The vampire who has been assisting the Order decided to deal with me directly. Evie has means.” Nodding at the tavern, I pointed myself in its direction and took our first step toward it. Once Julian followed suit, I continued onward, grateful when he issued no further concern. We sat ourselves away from the front, near the back exit with Julian facing the entrance and me, facing away. A waitress passed by and took our drink order.
When she wandered off, Julian extracted Robin’s journal from his satchel and placed it on the table. I reached for it and sliding the tome closer. “You were saying that your handler does not have a positive opinion of me,” I said, resting my hand on the book’s leather cover. My gaze remained fixed on Julian, if just for the time being. “Is he the one leading the charge?”
Julian frowned, leaning back in his chair so he could fold his hands together on his lap. “Yes. Berwick and Gillies were close friends,” he said. “Both have been with the Order since before I became a seer. I had to sneak into Berwick’s office to retrieve that.” Julian nodded at the book. “I don’t know if he had a chance to read it, but I would assume he has. Safer that way.”
“Very well, then.” I lifted the tome from the table and nestled its spine in my palm. Opening the cover, I skim-read the first few pages, seeing the date of his first entry and noting its place several weeks in the past. It took flipping to near the halfway point in the book before I reached an empty page. After retreating to his final entry, I began to read.
Neat strokes of penmanship filled each line, bearing to mind again that my brother was a careful scholar. This entry had been dated only a few days in the past, at the point where he had handed me the other book in which to write. Here, I saw Robin’s half-formed notes expanded upon and breathed a quiet apology to him for violating the sanctity of his privacy. “Not that you would be more upset at me than the thought of the Order reading your darkest secrets,” I murmured.
Julian chuckled, but made no further sound. As I became engrossed in the entry, I forgot about his presence, hearing Robin’s voice in the words which followed.
Unraveling the thoughts of a madman seems to have consumed my energy these days, though I suppose this is to be expected when dancing to the melody of whatever paranoid insanity Patrick has crafted. Even after subjecting myself to a visit in Vienna and a bizarre detour through Budapest, I can’t determine what mess he’s either created or gotten himself wrapped up in.
Is it foolish for me to hold out any hope it might still be the latter?
Anyway, while my oldest friend remains an enigma to me, my immortal mother bears a level of predictability which borders on suspicious. We determined in Vienna that the breadcrumb trail Peter’s associate placed us on was, in fact, laid by Sabrina, which further begs the question of why. I have no doubt Patrick is allowing us to know the movement of one pawn to keep our focus there, but I’m beginning to suspect even he fails to see the pattern in her movements. Perhaps because important moments to Sabrina forms their link; memories she never had the chance to share with him.
Vienna, I have written about so extensively in previous journals, I don’t think it needs any further notation here. Our most infamous fight took place in Austria and set the tone for the majority of our remaining years together. Budapest was the home of the man she had loved long before she and Patrick had even crossed paths, Marcell. I plan on taking us to Kilkenny, as foolish of a decision as that might be, but if she had something hidden either there or in London – the first stop in our travels as maker and child – I believe she would have long since retrieved those.
If I am right, however, this leaves an abundance of possibilities for other places where we might cross paths. Bucharest – where she and Marcell lived under Grigore’s roof. Kathmandu – her first true taste of the Orient. I doubt she would have crossed into America and risked hiding treasures in San Francisco, or Boston, or Los Angeles, but these are other places where fate touched our lives. Rome is where she was resurrected and Berlin, where she plead for me to return after Ilya’s death.
My thoughts stray immediately to Paris, though. If my theory is correct, then Paris would be one of her safe havens, and if Peter’s contact reports no unusual activity there, then we should venture there immediately. If I know our immortal mother as well as I claim, then we will either encounter her, or discover a past encounter that proves I am correct.
I looked up from the book, shutting it slowly and frowning at Julian. Belatedly, I realized the waitress had returned with our drinks and lifted mine to take a sip. “You said that massacre you had been involved in took place in Berlin?” I asked.
Julian nodded, taking a healthy swallow of the beer he had ordered. “Yes, it did,” he said, lowering the pint glass back onto the table. “Did your brother say something about Berlin?”
“Yes, which leads me to wonder if the attack had been orchestrated as a diversion. If Sabrina had to retrieve something, Patrick could have used the opportunity to create further unrest.” I cradled the journal in my hands, becoming more transfixed on my thoughts than anything happening around us. “Robin seemed emphatic about venturing to Paris. If nothing suspicious has occurred there, he thinks something will shortly. Patrick is in the final stage of his plans.”
I glanced at a clock hanging from the wall, weighing whether we had given Richard enough time to return from retrieving Katerina. Silently, I assessed my resources, taking a deep breath as the absence of both Robin and Monica weighed down my disposition. Having Robin’s words felt comforting, though whatever ease they offered threatened to perish beside the thought of what Patrick might be doing to him. Frowning, I trained my thoughts more directly toward Robin’s journal entry.
“If Berwick has read this,” I said, holding up the book for a moment before lowering it again, “Then I stand the risk of being intercepted at Paris.”
“Yes, though you might have enough time before...” Julian trailed off. When he did, I glanced from the clock to him, seeing his gaze fixed on the front doors of the establishment. Slowly, his expression shifted, his brow furrowing. “They couldn’t,” he said, not bothering to finish the sentence before adding, “How?”
“How what?” I turned to glance over my shoulder. While I failed to see anything,
I felt Julian take the journal from my hands, straightening in my chair again as a reflex to look back at him. Opening the flap of his satchel, he shoved the leather-bound book into it and quickly secured it shut, coming to a stand as he did. I produced my wallet and reached inside for a bill to place on the table. “What is it?” I asked, standing and slipping the wallet back into my pocket. “Is it them?”
“Yes, we need to get out of –” His words were cut off by the sound of the door opening. He froze in place for a moment, turning pale, and when I pivoted toward the entrance again, this time I felt the aura of energy they exuded. Five men walked inside, two of which I knew were armed, and one dressed in the uniform of a Met officer. They garnered the attention of everyone else in the tavern, bringing all conversation to a stop.
The man standing closest to the policeman – a disguise, I assured myself, when they exuded the same energy as the rest – stepped ahead of his compatriots, his gaze settling on me. His hair mostly silver, with trenches cut into his face by time, his cerulean eyes searched me over before he finally spoke. “Mr. Dawes, you’ve been a tricky one to locate,” he said, “I suggest you surrender before this gets more complicated.”
“Could it truly, though?” I asked. Slowly, my hand came to rest atop my coat, hovering over the hilt of my sword. “To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
“James Berwick,” he confirmed. “Detective Chief Inspector with the Metropolitan Police. You’re wanted for questioning regarding the murder of Brandon Gillies.”
“Is this the story we are spinning in front of the civilians?”
His expression remained impartial, though the way his posture shifted indicated I had hit on a nerve. “The civilians don’t need to know anything else. We received word of your whereabouts through an informant and, I can assure you, there are police crawling through the neighborhood. Don’t create a spectacle. We’ll catch you, one way or another.”
The mention of an informant made my stomach sink. As I saw movement in my periphery, I sized Julian up as much as I could without taking my eyes off Berwick. He assumed a place by my side, a half step ahead of me, and the way he tensed suggested this had taken him as much by surprise. As Berwick looked at him, I focused more intently on the group gathered in front of us, taking belated note of the one dressed in dirtier clothing.