Konstantin put a hand on Pavel’s shoulder. “We do not know. Not for sure.” Pavel deflated. Konstantin’s word was law in Pavel’s world.
Crispin took back the high ground. “One step at a time, Pavel. If we’re patient, if we do it right, we can only win. We go to the grave where they found the skeleton and we make sure it’s the one we want.”
“Then tell us the next step,” Konstantin said. “Where was the titan buried?”
“Eleanora didn’t know,” Astra said. “She never knew. But she knew where to find out. Her ancestor, Cuthbert Whitlock, he recorded the coordinates in his journal. Which is now in the keeping of the Shadow Council.”
She threaded her arm through Crispin’s. “And thanks to Eleanora’s untimely death, along with the deaths of all her heirs, plus a sudden change to her will, one of us is now on the Council.”
Chapter 7 – Fiona
Fiona leaned her elbows on the pub table and looked into Alice’s shining blue eyes. “You’re not worried?”
Their local pub, the Blue Door, pulled a modest crowd on a Wednesday night and about half the tables of dark, polished wood were full. Some people ate meals piled on big white plates, while others nursed cold pints, letting their conversations gradually get louder. Two girls worked the bar and took turns clearing glasses off the tables. The pub owner, a white-haired old man with a face like a wrinkled apple, chatted to one of the regulars at the end of the bar.
Alice smiled. She and Julian had pulled their chairs close together and Alice had tucked herself under the arm Julian had put around her shoulders. It didn’t look all that comfortable, but Julian had been giving Alice most of his attention so far that evening and Alice appeared more than pleased by it.
“My kind,” Alice said and paused. She turned her gaze to Rob, who sat beside Fiona, as far from Alice as he could get and still sit at the same table. He and Alice kept their distance by mutual, unspoken agreement. “Our kinds,” Alice said, “respect strength.”
Rob raised his pint to her. “And nothing says strength like ripping up all the big-shots who want a go at you.”
Alice inclined her head in reply. Two ambassadors of nations at war would have been less tense.
“Alice,” Julian said, gazing at her, “is the finest vampire warrior ever to walk Britain.”
Alice bestowed a smoky smile on him and nestled closer. Fiona didn’t think they’d stay at the pub much longer.
But she wasn’t willing to let the matter go so easily. “You’re really not worried? You pushed. Won’t they push back? That old one they called in – Cordillan? Isn’t that what he was? Rob and Julian killed a whole lot of your kind, so they went and got their big guns?”
Alice shrugged. “There aren’t many like Cordillan around, certainly not ones interested in becoming active.” She toyed with the stem of the empty wine glass in front of her. “For now, the different bloodlines will vie amongst themselves for supremacy. I killed off so many of the clan heads, you see.” She flashed her sharp-toothed smile again. “Once the new vampire court establishes itself, they’ll try to make peace with me.”
“And Nathaniel? What if they line up behind him? Evelyn says he’ll get respect from them for having a connection to this new councillor.”
It was Rob who replied. “Nah, it’s like you say. Strength, yeah? You made a show of force while Nathaniel’s being a weaselly little politician.”
Alice nodded to him again. “We play nice in this world of shadow councils and treaties, but underneath we’re still warriors. We still think like warriors.” She arched her fingers. Her eyes shone brighter. “It’s the rest of you that should worry. The Shadow Council is weak, ready to fall. Vampires are good at sensing weakness.”
Julian took his arm from around Alice’s shoulder. “And on that note, I think it’s my round. Same again?”
Fiona was sure it was her round, but the boys liked to do the buying. She always bought one on principle, but she would wait until later when it would be easier to argue over the top of them.
Alice rose after Julian. “You’re terrible at choosing wines. I’ll come with you.” He put his arm around her waist and they made their way together towards the bar.
Fiona sat back. “It’s good to see those two doing well. They are doing well, aren’t they?”
Rob shrugged. “He says she’s worth the trouble.”
Not that he isn’t difficult in his own way, she thought, watching them talk at the bar. One of the girls asked Alice for ID again, because even though she was three hundred years old she looked seventeen. Julian spoke to the girl and she blinked, then nodded. Fiona saw Rob sniff the air.
She’d arrived at the pub to find Rob and Julian already on their second pint each. “A hell of a week,” Rob had said and they’d made her wait for Alice to arrive before explaining about their recent commuting experience. They told their tale casually, sounding more fed up than angry, like being sucked out of reality by an inhuman horror was merely the hassle of a broken-down Tube line and a replacement bus service. Alice, fascinated by such things, hung on every word.
Furious on their behalf, Fiona had asked, “Did you report it?”
Rob had shrugged. “To who?”
Julian’s mouth twisted wryly. “And to what end?”
They were right. From what she’d seen, no one could do anything for them. The Shield Foundation, as Julian had once put it, was good at clean-up but poor at prevention and they were the best such organisation out there. But she didn’t like that her friends could find themselves in that much danger when they were just trying to get by.
“Can I ask you something?” Rob said. He had been quiet and thoughtful since Alice and Julian went to the bar, two highly unusual states for him. “Would you date a werewolf?”
Fiona took a sharp breath. She hadn’t seen that one coming. He was charming when he wanted to be, certainly easy to look at and if you liked a set of shoulders on a guy, he had those. But he was more boy than man. She tried to come up with a way of letting him down easy.
“See,” he said, “there’s this girl at work.”
“Oh.” She let out a relieved breath. But you’re disappointed too, I notice, said the traitorous voice at the back of her mind.
She pointedly ignored herself.
“She seems really nice,” he said. His gaze was distant, looking at some inner image of whoever this girl was. “Pretty too, real pretty. I think she’s Greek, or Mediterranean anyway. She’s got that nice tanned skin, you know?”
Fiona, who had the kind of skin that never tans, narrowed her eyes.
What she knew would be a foolish grin began to take over Rob’s face. His gaze was still fastened on that picture in his mind. “And I made a couple of stupid jokes in the coffee room the other day and she laughed and I’m thinking of asking her out for a drink or whatever but–” The grin vanished and his shoulders slumped. “But you know what I am.”
His misery was so absolute she took pity on him. “Does she know? What you are, I mean?”
“I guess so. Everyone at work does, I think.”
“Then she knows and likes you anyway.”
His face lit up. “You reckon? I just don’t want to hurt anyone, you know? It’s so hard sometimes and I’m afraid I’d slip and hurt her.”
She put her hand on his arm. “You’ll try your hardest not to. I’m sure you won’t.”
The grin made a triumphant comeback and it was as silly as she thought it would be. But she found she didn’t mind. “Thanks Fiona. You’ve been a big help.”
Alice and Julian returned, she with a tall glass of red wine, he with the other three drinks held in a spidery grip. He set the drinks out, resumed his chair and put his arm around Alice again. Alice’s eyelids drooped, like those of a cat about to take a pleasant nap.
Fiona had her own reason for coming tonight, beyond seeing her friends. She thought it best to make her request now before Julian forgot about everything but Alice. “Julian, I have a favou
r to ask you. I’d like you to teach me magic.”
He blinked. “Me?”
Alice burst out laughing. She rocked forward and back, squirmed her shoulders beneath Julian’s arm and finally buried her face in his shoulder. Julian looked down at her, amused and put out at the same time.
“That’s a great idea,” Rob said, sitting up. “Julian, you know lots of magic stuff, more than any witch or warlock I’ve met in London. Fiona can learn from you.” His smile slipped. “What’s so funny about that?”
Alice pressed her cheek against Julian’s shoulder. “What’s so funny about asking a member of the most secretive magic family you will ever encounter to teach you magic?”
“Oh.” Rob scratched behind his ear. “Really, Julian? She’s our friend.”
Fiona could feel her cheeks getting red. “If you’re not allowed–”
“There are many things he’s not allowed to do,” Alice said, grinning at Julian. “It’s like a list he works his way down.”
Julian still appeared unable to decide if he was annoyed with her. “I’m not sure how good a teacher I’d be, Fiona. My own education was as far from standard as you could get.”
But Fiona was ready for that one. “I learned nothing at all when I was a student at the Red Sisters. They tried to teach me how to light a candle. I couldn’t do it. They were being confusing on purpose, but even they admitted I should have picked up that much in my time with them. I’ve tried asking for tips from people I know at my new job and I’ve been trying a book someone loaned me. Nothing. Not a thing. I still can’t light a candle.”
She pointed across the table. “But I’ve learned from you and you weren’t even trying. I’ve learned more from you by accident than anyone else has managed to teach me on purpose, myself included. I think you could be a very good teacher if you wanted to be.”
Julian twisted his beer glass on the table. He looked away towards the nearest window, its dark glass reflecting the interior of the pub. She wondered what arguments were rolling back and forth through his mind.
“Julian, come on,” Rob said. His brow was furrowed into a deep, disapproving line. “She’s our friend. What about the basics? You must have learned stuff that isn’t secret at school. You told me once you went to a magic school.”
“I’m not talking about whatever ancient secret forbidden knowledge your family might have,” she said. “Just the basics, as Rob says.”
Julian focused his gaze on her. It was not distracted, or thoughtful, or pleasant, or polite. She felt him bring his mystic senses to bear, all of them. She felt him scrutinise her as though he could see down to her atoms. Fiona discovered she couldn’t move, could barely think. His will pinned her in place. She heard the music coming through the pub’s speakers dissolve into static. From the corner of her eye she saw the reflections in the mirrors behind the bar twist and warp.
“Why can’t you learn?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” The words tumbled out without her thinking them. “I try the techniques people teach me, or ones I read about, but nothing happens.”
Julian looked down at his drink and released her. Fiona slumped back in her chair, her mind reeling. She knew he was strong, but – that?
“Let me think about it,” he said.
“But–” Rob said.
Julian shook his head without looking up from his drink. “Let me think about it.”
By the time they left the pub, Alice had roused Julian from whatever maze of thoughts he’d vanished into after dissecting Fiona. Rob made an effort to cheer Fiona up and she let him charm her enough for the fright Julian had given her to fade away. They strolled along Ealing’s quiet, night-time streets, between the terraced houses and the rows of cars at the verges of the road.
“Don’t you get cold?” Fiona asked Rob.
“I’m from up north. This is like the start of autumn in Manchester.”
Fiona adjusted her collar. “I’ll make a point of only ever visiting in summer. Are you sure being a shapeshifter doesn’t make you supernaturally invulnerable to the weather?”
She noticed that even with a buzz from all the beer he’d drunk, he was still uneasy at the public mention of his nature. “My fur coat doesn’t count if I’m not wearing it.”
They had reached the tiny front yards, separated by a low brick wall, in front of their respective front doors. Julian and Alice had already gone inside and the door to Flat 1 hung open, spilling warm yellow light onto the grey paving stones of the yard.
Fiona was about to reach into her pocket for her keys when her phone chirped. While she fished it out, Rob said, “I could use some nightmare-free sleep. Night Fiona.”
“Oh sure,” she said. She saw she had a message from her sister. She tapped her screen with her thumb and read the message.
GET READY.
As though it would help, she yelled at her phone. “Jessica, don’t you–”
White light exploded around her and whisked her away.
The first thing Fiona saw when her frazzled eyeballs recovered was her sister.
Jessica was almost levitating off the floor with excitement. “Guess what I found out!”
Fiona stood on a metal pad, surrounded by an arch of dishes like miniature radio telescopes threaded with glowing coils. An electric hum wound down from a piercing peak. The pad was in the centre of a room. More old-fashioned electrical equipment stood along the brick walls. Mechanical switches clicked back and forth in stacks enclosed by glass tubes. Needles swung from side to side on gauges above control panels.
The room was in a secret base Jessica had discovered beneath Russell Square, near central London. To Fiona’s concern, Jessica kept calling it her ‘lair’.
Jessica was ten, her hair tied up with a clip, bouncing on her sneakers as she waited for Fiona to get her bearings.
“Damn it, Jess, I told you not to do that.”
“No you didn’t, you told me to warn you.”
“I told you to ask me.”
Jessica shrugged. “Guess what I found out!”
Fiona sighed and stepped down off the teleporter pad. She knew very little could distract Jessica in this mood. “Let’s at least sit down first. I’ve had, um, one glass of wine.”
“Okay.” Jessica started for the door and, to Fiona’s lack of surprise, began sharing her news immediately.
The laboratories and workshops in Jessica’s lair were like the teleport room: bare brick with poor heating. But the rest of the place was panelled in dark wood and lit by warm electric lanterns, with thick burgundy carpet covering the floor. The walls of the corridors were lined with images. Some were of mundane things, such as a century-old photograph of Tower Bridge. More intriguing was a painting of Russian and Napoleonic troops fighting in a winter-locked Moscow. A picture of a red, utterly lifeless desert always tugged at Fiona’s attention when she passed it. The strangest, a sepia-tinged photo, showed a triple arrangement of obelisks unlike any formation Fiona had ever seen.
“See that cleaning automaton there?” Jessica pointed down the hallway. A brass automaton that stood no taller than Fiona’s waist dusted the corners. It was one of several Fiona had seen recently when she visited. “I figured out who made it.”
“One of those guys in the group photos?” An entire hallway of the complex was devoted to portraits of past members of the Royal Cartographers, the group who had used it as their base of operations. “Did you find out why they all vanished?”
“Huh? Oh, not yet. But anyway, I figured out who made the automatons. His name was Virgil Shrewsbury. He was a professor.”
Jessica pushed through a door into what Fiona had decided to call a parlour. It contained several comfortable couches, a cabinet of wine bottles and a row of four busts on a mantelpiece – scientists and explorers, Jessica claimed, from the time when the maps were still being drawn, though at the time Fiona hadn’t managed to stop the flow of her words long enough to ask how she knew. One bust was in service as a perch for a
mechanical raven with glass feathers. And like every other room in the complex that wasn’t a lab, it contained a map.
The map was of a place that didn’t exist outside myth. Seven main islands formed a long archipelago, each supporting a single city. Fiona had memorised the names of the cities, because she had begun trying to reach them.
“Professor Virgil Shrewsbury,” Fiona said, dropping onto one of the couches. “Well done. Do you have any water? I was looking forward to having a big glass of it when I got home.”
“Ooh, yes, watch this.” Jessica scooted over to a cabinet and opened the wood panel door. Fiona glimpsed more brass mechanisms inside. Jessica flicked a toggle and then, in a ten-year old’s idea of a posh lady’s accent said, “One carafe of water to the bust room for my sister, please.” She flicked the switch back and grinned at Fiona. “A carafe is like a jug, but it’s fancier.”
Fiona settled her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. “Thank you.” Her eyes snapped open. “Why do you call it the bust room?”
Jessica gave her a puzzled look. “Because of the busts on the shelf.”
“Later on, you might want to look up the other meanings of that word.”
The glass-feathered raven perched on one of the busts sniggered.
“Anyway,” Jessica said, “we were talking about Professor Shrewsbury. Mr Beak, come down here and show my sister your stamp.”
The glass-feathered raven groaned. “Do I have to? My stamp is on my arse, boss.”
Jessica pointed at Fiona and put on what she no doubt believed was a stern expression. Fiona had to hide a smile with her hand. “Just do it.”
Mr Beak grumbled, but he spread his wings and flew down onto the couch beside Fiona. Still muttering, he tucked his wings against his sides and rolled on his back.
His stomach was a single curved piece of glass, though it was decorated with a feather pattern. It was broken by the seal of a rectangular hatch that Fiona assumed opened into his inner mechanisms.
Immortal Make Page 7