by Janene Wood
“Marc? You spoke to Marc?” Kate was incredulous. “Why would you do that? What did he say?”
“He tried to warn me off,” chuckled Tayo. “Told me to stay away from you, as a matter of fact. Apparently I'm 'no good' for you.”
Kate gave a snort of derision. “Tell me something I don't know.”
“Don't be like that, Little M,” said Tayo, leaning forward and caressing her cheek with an icy hand. Kate cringed inwardly but didn’t flinch. In his present mood, it would be a mistake to antagonize him any more than she already had. “He was very concerned for your well-being – strangely so after treating you so abominably.”
“You can cut the act, Tayo, we both know he didn't–”
Kate broke off, distracted by the appearance in the doorway of a young woman in a pink silk robe, leaning provocatively against the jamb. The robe was tied only loosely, giving Kate a glimpse of creamy flesh beneath.
“Tayo baby, it’s lonely up there all by myself,” pouted the girl. “You said you’d only be a minute.”
Tayo glided across the room and pulled the blonde girl close, cupping a breast with one hand and kissing her deeply. His tether began thrusting its pelvis back and forth in a lewd imitation of the sexual act. Knowing the exhibition was for her benefit, Kate turned away, a blank expression on her face, until Tayo finally came up for air. A sardonic smile on his lips, he caught her eye and asked innocently, “Are you still here, Little M?”
Sick to death of his games, she replied curtly, “No, I’m long gone,” and strode past the intertwined couple.
She was halfway down the hall when he called out, “Oh, Kate, before you go…”
Kate sighed and turned back around, not bothering to hide her exasperation. “What?”
“I heard you had dinner with Harry the other night.”
“So?”
“Did he happen to tell you that story about getting stranded in Pakistan by the monsoon?”
She glared at him suspiciously. “Why?”
His smile was smug. “Just thought you should know it was a load of bullshit. He did go to Pakistan; he even trekked up into the mountains, but it was to broker a deal between the Afghani Mujahedeen and a new cartel client. Munitions for heroin. We came up with the story together to explain why he wasn’t around for your birthday.”
Her blood turned to ice. “I don’t believe you,” she whispered.
He shrugged. “Whatever. Catch you later, Little M.” He went back to sucking face and didn't give her a second glance.
Kate stared at him a moment longer before striding briskly out of the house and slamming the door behind her.
Marc let himself into Jules' empty townhouse and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. His sister had already left for work and it was eerily quiet without her. After showering quickly, he changed into jeans, polo shirt and the ubiquitous black leather jacket. He hadn’t eaten since stopping for coffee and biscotti with Pax the afternoon before, but didn't have time to stop and eat now. He noticed an early-opening takeaway shop a block from the Shed and decided to pick up some breakfast on his way into work. He just hoped their coffee was half-way decent; the instant crap wasn’t going to cut it after the night he’d had.
He had dozed in Kate’s comfortable wing-back chair beside the bed, but was too wired and too worried to sleep too deeply or for too long. Not knowing how much recovery time Kate needed after healing Leach, he hadn’t wanted to take the chance of her waking while he slept. Normally, she didn’t sleep more than a few hours a night, but this was far from a normal night. He tried several times to rouse her, just to make sure she hadn’t slipped into a coma, or God forbid, stopped breathing, but after stirring briefly she just slipped back into peaceful oblivion.
Continuing his vigil throughout the night, Marc began reading the first of her series of novels. During their brief time together, she had described them to him, as fondly as if they were beloved children, but he had been unable to bring himself to even look at them until last night. Since her “death”, the only path to remaining a sane, functioning member of the human race had been in avoiding anything that might remind him of her. Photos, letters, keepsakes; everything that hinted at her former existence had been boxed away, stored out of sight and out of mind. He already suffered from nightmares that left him gasping for breath in the middle of the night, so the worst thing he could possibly do was go in search of the only remaining earthly evidence of her and torture himself with the words she had drawn forth from deep within her heart.
So the books had remained unread.
Marc wasn’t a great reader of novels, preferring the gritty realism of non-fiction to keep him grounded, but he recognised good writing when he saw it. These were fantastical stories of a young girl, all alone in the world except for the friends she makes on an arduous journey through strange lands, searching for the scattered remnants of her family, while discovering herself in the process. The story was an obvious extrapolation of Kate’s own life, and while it pained him to imagine her growing up with neither mother nor father, a lonely child burdened by a gift that set her apart from everyone around her, he knew it was through adversity that strength such as hers was forged.
He was as proud of her as it was possible to be of another human being.
Marc was on his way out the door when Jules' phone rang. It wasn't likely the call was for him, so he ignored it, but when the answer-phone kicked in, he recognised Makamu Zende's distinctive baritone voice.
“Strider, it's Makamu. Are you there?”
There was a pause of several seconds as the chief waited for a response, during which time Marc ran up the hall to pick up the phone.
“You must have left already for the Shed,” Makamu's voice began again. “I'll try to get hold of you there.”
“Mak, I'm here!” said Marc urgently.
“Oh good, I'm glad I caught you. How is the investigation progressing?” enquired the chief, all business.
“Slow,” said Marc bluntly, “but it's early days. We've got a pile of warrants ready to go, and I'm cautiously optimistic they'll give us the kick start we need.”
“Well, keep at it,” encouraged Makamu, though his tone was flat. “That's not actually why I rang, not directly at least.” He paused, his hesitation reinforcing Marc's sense of impending disaster.
“There was an attack last night,” announced the chief. “Wulverov and Bouvré, together with a couple of thugs.”
Marc's blood turned cold. “Who was the target?”
“Lady Emberley's young secretary, Suzanne Chartrier. She was walking home with her boyfriend after a few drinks, when they were ambushed in the street. She's fine, but Omar, her Guardian, was shot twice and stabbed several times. He's just come out of emergency surgery.”
“Damn,” frowned Marc. “I know Omar. He's a hell of a fighter. Will he be okay?”
“The doctors say he'll recover, but it was close.”
“How did it happen?”
“It was a two-pronged attack, well planned and well executed... though it only succeeded as well as it did because the weasel of a boyfriend led them into the ambush. His name's Will Rivers, according to Suzanne, but he had no ID on him and we know nothing else about him. He has all the signs of having been under heavy Compulsion for a prolonged time. Now that Bouvré's cut him loose, he's a virtual zombie. He keeps asking for his 'mistress' and is extremely agitated. Maya gave me the name of someone who might be able to help him, but I'm not sure he'll ever recover fully – certainly it will take more time than we've got to get anything useful out of him.”
Marc frowned thoughtfully, thinking this might be something Kate could help with, but in view of their most recent conversation, he didn't think she would be keen, not if he was involved.
“Anyway,” Makamu continued, “Suzanne and Rivers managed to get back to the apartment unharmed, but Bouvré was waiting in the shadows. She and Rivers forced the poor girl inside at gunpoint. The plan was for Wulverov to jo
in them once he and his thugs dealt with Omar, but the Wolf never showed. I suspect he was too badly incapacitated to keep the rendezvous. Which is the only good thing to come out of the whole debacle. Bouvré and Rivers were still waiting for him when Emil stormed in and knocked the boyfriend unconscious, before disarming Bouvré.”
“I take it from your lack of enthusiasm something happened to prevent her capture?” said Marc.
“Correct,” said the chief in the same grim tone. “Emil's attempt to restrain her was sloppy and she managed to grab his hand. Fortunately, the Compulsion takes several seconds to take effect and Suzanne had the presence of mind to grab the gun from him before he could give it back to Bouvré. Realising they were at an impasse, Ana cut her losses and ran, using Emil as a human shield.”
“Is he okay?”
“He's fine now; the effects wore off pretty quickly.”
“What was he even doing there?”
“Omar was suspicious of the boyfriend from the get-go, so he arranged for Emil to act as backup. His role was to stay out of sight, but in the event of trouble, stick with Suzanne and ensure her safety. It was a good plan in that it achieved its main objective, but in the end it came down to dumb luck.”
“So we're as much in the dark as we were before,” said Marc dejectedly.
“I'm afraid so,” admitted Makamu, “but if Wulverov's injured, he might be out of action for a while, giving us more time before the next attack to shut them down.”
“You think they'll strike again?”
“I don't believe they've gone to this much trouble to give up at the first hurdle. It's just a matter of time and the right opportunity.”
“Has his lordship been informed?”
“His lordship is incommunicado for the next few days. He's gone to Sully Park for a few days of navel-gazing.” Makamu's tone was disparaging and Marc wondered what was behind the chief's enmity. “Apparently, it's what he does every year on the anniversary of Lavinia James' death. Damned self-indulgent if you ask me, leaving Cat to carry the load on her own. We all know how strong she is, but he's her husband for God's sake! She needs his support!”
Marc hesitated to speak, not sure how to react to his chief's uncharacteristic mini-rant, but Makamu saved him the trouble of a response. “Forgive me, Strider. Please ignore everything I just said. I'm in a foul mood over the whole Suzanne thing.”
“Of course, Chief, think nothing of it.”
Makamu cleared his throat and moved on. “There's one more thing I wanted to mention, with regard to that unusual gathering of binders you walked into in Paris, and more particularly, that one witch who gave you so much trouble. Since we spoke, I've had similar reports come in from several other European cities. It's starting to look like a pattern, and I fear there's real trouble looming on the horizon. I mentioned my concern to Maya and she didn't seem at all surprised. She suggested I go outside and look at the sky. You can't see it now, now that it's light, but have a look for yourself tonight.”
“What am I looking for?” asked Marc.
“The 'sign of upheaval',” said Makamu enigmatically. “That's what binders all over Europe are calling it.”
“It, being?” It was like getting blood out of a stone.
“A comet. An enormous goddamn green comet with a blue tail. According to Maya, paraphrasing something called the Uverian Prophesy, it's a sign that the Endless War is about to escalate, culminating in a disastrous, violent end for us. The prophesy predicts Shadowkind will come into their own at long last, taking over the mundane world and decimating most of human society.”
“Really. Well, that's something to look forward to,” said Marc sarcastically. “Where is this 'prophesy' supposed to have originated and why has no one mentioned it before?”
“Its origins aren't clear, but it's hundreds of years old. For that reason, few Alete or Guardians even know of it. Fortunately, Cat keeps abreast of these things. She says Shadowkind have been hanging their hopes on it for centuries.”
“And that's what the gatherings are in aid of? Someone's trying to recruit an army of witches and bring the fight to us?” Marc could scarcely believe what he was hearing. The Alliance was only just holding its own as it was.
“That's what we're hearing,” said Makamu.
“Do you think such a thing is possible, given the witches' inability to accept anyone's authority but their own, let alone form a distinct and inviolable chain of command?”
“A month ago, I would have said unequivocally no, but now? I'm not so sure. They have the numbers and the strength – they always have had – but they've always lacked motivation. If there really is a witch out there with sufficient power, charisma and ambition to earn their respect and loyalty, then all I can say is God help mankind.”
“Amen to that,” muttered Strider.
Kate Regroups
The drive from Tottenham to Camden took nearly an hour in peak-hour traffic, but seemed much quicker to Kate, who was quietly obsessing over her argument with Marc and the subsequent unpleasant encounter with Tayo.
It had been an eventful morning so far and it wasn't even 8.30am.
Deciding she wasn't in a fit state to talk to anyone just yet and using the entirely real need for caffeine as an excuse, she parked the Jeep in her usual spot behind the clinic and detoured to the high street. A long line of customers waited to be served at Bella Blue, but for once, she didn’t mind. The wait would give her more time to calm down and put the events of this morning out of her mind. If she didn’t clear her head, there would be no healing anyone today.
She was surprised not to see Suri at his usual corner table and wondered if maybe he'd had the crap beaten out of him on Saturday night and was too bruised and battered to leave his lair, even for a coffee fix. Not even the strongest of shadowbinders, with all the power of hell at their fingertips, had been able to create a spell capable of healing the human body.
Suri wasn't like most binders. For starters, he didn’t hide in the shadows, he wasn’t always looking over his shoulder and he felt at home in the mundane world. His aura indicated he was exceptionally strong, but he had no use for an apprentice, which meant he wasn’t interested in the type of immortality that passing on his vast repository of knowledge would have guaranteed. Most telling of all, he respected her, they were friends, and she felt no overpowering urge to kill him. Which made for a unique relationship.
Not that they ever talked about magic or any of that crazy stuff. Suri didn't even know she was Alete. As far as he was concerned, she was a clueless human.
It was nice to pretend.
Ten minutes later, cappuccino in hand, Kate stepped off the kerb and onto the pedestrian crossing, only to be startled from her reverie by the loud honk of a horn. A white Toyota Hilux skidded to a halt only inches away from her; far too close for comfort. Embarrassed by her inattentiveness, she gave the driver a shaky, apologetic shrug before continuing on her way. So much for getting her head together.
Still trembling from the near miss, she had barely reached the other side of the road when she heard a loud shout.
“Hey! Come back here!”
Kate glanced behind her, but thankfully the voice wasn’t yelling at her. The dark-skinned driver of the vehicle that almost knocked her over was leaning out his window, yelling at a tall, lanky man shuffling across the crossing toward her.
“Will Rivers! Get your arse back here now!” he yelled angrily.
Kate didn't know what was going on there, and she didn't want to. Leaving the drama of the high street behind, she turned into a narrow lane and strode purposefully toward the tree-lined street visible at the other end. Her destination was a converted 1920s cottage with a distinctive red door, situated in the middle of a long row of similar neat structures diagonally opposite the lane.
Just as she reached the front gate of the wellness clinic, sounds of a scuffle made her turn around and she was surprised to see the lanky man from the high street being accosted by two thuggi
sh-looking men.
“Hey!” she yelled. “Leave him alone!”
The two assailants stared menacingly back at her, making her wonder at the wisdom of interfering in the business of strangers. Taking advantage of his attackers’ distraction, the hapless victim began sidling away. When no attempt was made to stop him, he turned on his heel and ran off. The two thugs turned and walked away. Relieved, Kate went back about her business.
Finally arriving at work, she exchanged a few pleasantries with Lorna, collected her messages and headed to her office.
There were two messages, both from her friend, Carolyne, no doubt wanting to thank her for yesterday, for healing her six-year-old daughter, Sophie. Caro had been in shock yesterday, not convinced she should believe what Kate told her. Obviously, she wanted to believe her daughter was now completely cancer-free, but it sounded much too good to be true. It was a typical reaction and Kate wasn’t offended, but by now the doctors would have done their tests and confirmed the truth, which meant Caro would be overflowing with gratitude and goodwill. And while it was nice to be appreciated, Kate didn't have time for that conversation right now. Her first priority was to find out what was going on with Ryan.
There were so many questions she wanted to ask, starting with who shot him and why? If it was a work-related shooting, why were Tayo and Fitz involved? And if it wasn’t work-related, then what was going on? More importantly, why did no one call an ambulance to take Ryan to hospital? Why risk his life so recklessly by waiting for her to treat him? Whose dim-witted idea was that?
Tayo must have told Ryan and Fitz about her gift – despite it being none of his business and not his secret to tell – and being the morons that they were, they decided to put her to the test. Men could be so stupid sometimes! What if they hadn't been able to find her in time? Ryan could have died! She regretted not confronting Tayo about it earlier, but she’d been in strict damage control mode, too focused on Marc to think about anything else.
Kate decided to try Ryan's number first, assuming Fitz would have taken him home to sleep. She might despise him, but Fitz was a good friend to Ryan and would have seen him safe. Unlike Tayo, who admitted to bailing at the first sign of trouble.