by Christine Warren, Marjorie Liu, Caitlin Kittredge, Jenna Maclaine
Areshko would keep growing her hunger until it consumed enough of the Black to spill over into the world of the living.
“No,” he said. “No, we’re not leaving her to finish what she started.”
After a moment, Ava nodded. “We can’t.”
Jack stopped, still clinging to her, and swung himself around.
“You wish to petition me for mercy?” Areshko growled when Jack turned back.
“Fuck off,” he said. “Let the Fallen ponce go and just fuck off, back to Hell or wherever you came from.”
Areshko bared her teeth at him. “And if I do not?”
“Then, luv, I’m going to exorcise you,” Jack said. “And I’m going to enjoy it.”
The toe of his boot nudged Ava’s iron knife and he scooped it up.
“Die, mage,” Areshko hissed. “Meet the Triumvirate head-on.”
Jack spread his arms, even though the pain lanced him like hot iron. “I’m right here, darling. Come and take me.”
Areshko sprang, and Jack took her swipe full on, letting her hands grip him and pull him close.
He turned the iron knife in his hand and threw it to Ava.
She gripped it and said the banishing words. “Return to the place called home. Return to the darkness. Return to the void. Areshko, you are welcome no longer. Begone.”
Areshko latched her lips on to his, blue pointed tongue and white pointed teeth slicking and cutting his lips. Jack’s senses deadened, and just for a moment the agonizing scream of Areshko’s power ceased inside his mind. “I could give you this, mage,” she whispered against his mouth. “I could take it all away from you.”
Jack’s stomach twisted. No more nightmares, no more visions. No more feeling his mind fraying with every hour that passed.
All he had to do was turn around and stop Ava, and allow Areshko to consume Nazaraphael. All he had to do was nothing, as she grew fat on her Hunger.
“The flesh is weak,” Areshko said. “Too weak to see what you see. It will be your end, mage, slow and rotting from inside to out.”
“I have no doubt.” Jack sighed. He met her blazing eyes. “But I don’t deal with demons.” He spun Areshko like a lover into Ava’s path as she swept the knife up and buried the blade in the soft portion of Areshko’s back, between the ribs, blue blood spilling on white brands.
“Return to Hell, your mother,” Ava rasped. “Bound by iron, begone.”
Areshko screamed, and Nazaraphael shimmered back into existence on the ground. Areshko twitched and twisted against the banishing iron, wielded by an exorcist, and then she began to fade—first her skin and then her bones and finally the brands, hints of ghostly white, before she evaporated completely.
Ava held out the knife to Jack, her hand quivering. “Take it. I don’t need it anymore.”
Jack took the knife and flipped it, crouching so that he held the point against Nazaraphael’s neck. Jack’s wound hurt again, but at least he wasn’t slipping away toward the Bleak Gates.
“Now,” he said, “you’re going to tell this poor girl how you lied.”
Nazaraphael’s lip curled. “I am full-blood Fallen.”
“You’re full of shite, is what you are,” Jack snarled. “Say it. Tell Ava what you did.”
Nazaraphael looked into him, with his dead eyes. “Your soul will dance on the coals for this, Winter.”
“Tell me news, wanker.” Jack pushed the knife in, drawing a bead of blood, and Nazaraphael hissed.
“I am demon.” He gritted his teeth, trying to crawl away from Jack’s ministrations.
Ava let out a cry. “Daniel …”
“He burns. And he will forever.” Nazaraphael grinned. “I wanted Areshko. I said what was necessary.”
Jack stood up, swaying. “Go back to Hell and pray I never set eyes on you again.”
Nazaraphael faded in a swell of smoke, and the only sound echoing throughout Catacomb City was Ava’s sobbing.
When Ava was fit to move, Jack took her to Nina’s mum’s flat. The lock wasn’t anything special, and he let them in and left Ava to wash herself off and find clothes.
Jack waited in the sitting room, looking at Nina’s family pictures.
“She had a nice family.” Ava was wearing a jumper and jeans. Her face was scrubbed, her hair tangled and damp.
“She seemed like a nice girl,” Jack said. “For a necromancer.” He fished in his pocket for the last of his gig money, a hundred quid, and laid it on the mantle next to the picture of Nina and her dad grinning outside the O2 dome in London. He knew it was meaningless, considering what had been lost, but it was the only thing he had to give.
“I shouldn’t have lied to you,” Ava murmured, “about Nazaraphael and I bargaining. I met Daniel when I was so young. He loved me, and I loved him, and when he died—”
“Ava.” Jack shook his head. “Ava, Ava. Enough with that. I know what you are. You’re a liar and a sinner, just like me.”
Her mouth curved up. “We had fun though, didn’t we, Jack?” She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him softly.
Jack returned it, and then regretfully stepped away. “I could get used to you, Ava. Even if you are insane.”
“Mmm. You could come to New York.” She tugged on his waistband. “Help me hunt. Might be fun.”
Jack chuckled. “I do like you, Ava. If I never meet another one of you, it will be too soon.” He opened Nina’s door. “Take care of yourself, luv.”
“Jack.” Her eyes filled up. “Don’t leave. We could do so much good together …”
“Ava”—Jack shook his head—“I’m not a good man. You should know by now.”
“I suppose,” she sighed, “that’s why I picked you.”
“We’ve both got our shadows,” said Jack. “Don’t let them drown you, Ava.”
Jack left the flat and stepped out under an iron gray sky, walking away from Ava and waiting for the rain to fall.
ONE
Paris, 1889
I leaned forward in my seat, resting my hands on the railing of our private box at the Paris Opera, and watched my friend Justine take the stage. As the music washed over me, I smiled, remembering the night when Henri Meilhac, Bizet’s librettist, had first seen her perform, and had announced that she had been born to play the role of Carmen. It was fortunate that Devlin, Justine’s consort, had turned her into a vampire, or she would have missed the opportunity by about two hundred years.
The door behind me softly opened and closed a moment before Michael slid silently into the seat next to me. Glancing at him, I admired how handsome he looked in his black evening clothes. I turned to scold him for missing the opening, but the expression on his face halted my words.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“I was delayed by a warden who insists on speaking with you immediately,” Michael replied.
I glanced across the theater to the box where Antoine, the vampire Regent of Paris, sat surrounded by his lieutenants and ladies.
“Why the devil does one of Antoine’s wardens need to talk to me?” I asked impatiently.
Michael shook his head. “He’s not Antoine’s, love. He’s English.”
“Oh, bugger,” I muttered and sank into my chair.
Devlin, Justine, Michael, and I were The Righteous.
We were in essence the police force of the vampire world, answerable only to the High King of the Vampires. It was our job to deal with anything that a Regent or his wardens couldn’t handle. Mostly this consisted of executing rogue vampires who broke the laws set down by the High King. Sometimes, however, we were called in to deal with more delicate matters, such as deposing a ruler who had gone mad, or refereeing a local power struggle. The names of The Righteous were spoken in fearful whispers throughout the vampire nation and no Regent would ask for our help lightly. If a warden had come all the way to Paris from England to find us, it could only mean that our brief holiday, and Justine’s run as Carmen, was about to come to an abrupt end.
; I leaned over and whispered to Devlin, “Duty calls. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
Devlin nodded. “Let me know if you need me,” he said, never taking his eyes off the stage.
I smiled at the look of intense pride and raw lust on his face as he watched his consort below.
“You enjoy the performance,” I said. “We’ll handle this.”
I turned back to Michael and he stood, offering me his arm. Curling my fingers into the fabric of his coat, I felt the hard muscles underneath leap in response. He glanced down at me as we exited the box and gave me a wicked smile.
“Ah, my whiskey-eyed lass, have I told you yet tonight how much I love you and how beautiful you are?” he asked.
I paused and turned to him, sighing inwardly as I brushed his hair away from his sparkling blue eyes. Michael’s dark blond hair, which he always wore longer than was fashionable, never failed to look as though I’d been running my fingers through it. Probably because I had. After nearly three quarters of a century together, I still couldn’t keep my hands off my dashing husband.
“You’ve told me at least twice,” I replied softly, “but a woman can never hear it too many times.”
I thought my new burgundy evening gown, with its black lace and jet beads, was particularly lovely. Hoop skirts had thankfully gone out of style years ago, and the use of bustles was in decline. I sincerely hoped such good sense would soon herald a return to the more uncomplicated fashions of my youth. My new dress was the first one in years that I truly adored. My blood-red hair was done up in artful curls, and Michael reached out to tuck an errant strand behind my ear.
A discreet cough came from somewhere behind me. All thoughts of my handsome husband were suspended as I turned to see a rather grim-looking dark-haired young man waiting in the hall. I closed the distance between us and silently regarded him. He’d been young when he was turned, perhaps only eighteen or nineteen years old. He didn’t look as one would expect a warden to look, but I’d learned long ago never to judge a vampire in such terms. Michael was a prime example of that. He didn’t have Devlin’s great height, or his massive build, but he was a brawler, and infinitely the more dangerous of the two. I would reserve judgment on this young man until I’d seen him in action.
“Miss Craven,” the warden said, executing a respectful bow. “My name is Grady and I am a warden for the Regent of London.”
It was rare for vampires to use surnames. Though Michael and I had been married for well over half a century, there was no tradition among our kind of a wife taking her husband’s last name, as there was in the human world. I had not abandoned the use of my family name after I was turned, therefore I would forever be “Miss Craven” to those showing respect. To those who spoke my name in fearful whispers, I was Cin Craven, the Red Witch of the Righteous, or simply the Devil’s Witch.
“Warden,” I said coolly. “You’ve traveled a long way. What is so important that it couldn’t wait until the conclusion of the opera?”
“I was instructed by the Regent to come here with all haste and speak to you immediately,” he said, glancing nervously at Michael. “And privately.”
“You may speak freely in front of my husband, Warden,” I assured him. “We keep no secrets from each other.”
The warden shifted his weight uncomfortably. “My instructions were very clear, ma’am, and I dare not disobey the Regent. I am to speak to you, and only you.”
Well, that certainly isn’t going to happen, I thought. Already I could feel the tension in Michael’s body at the warden’s strange request.
I cocked my head to one side. “I don’t recall Charles being such an ogre,” I said.
“Charles is no longer Regent,” the warden replied. “He was challenged and defeated last year. The new Regent is young, but he’s strong and ruthless.
“Who is he?” I asked out of curiosity. Whoever he was, he had already begun to annoy me.
“His name is Sebastian,” the warden replied.
I stilled, my stomach clenching. “Sebastian Montford?” I asked.
Grady nodded. “I believe that was his human name, yes.”
At that confirmation Michael shot forward, his hand curling around the warden’s throat.
Grady’s eyes widened in fear, as well they should have. Once, when we’d both been human, Lord Sebastian Montford had wanted to marry me, though I had not returned his affections. Perhaps my polite but firm rejection of his offer had hardened his heart to me, or perhaps it had only turned his love into some dark and twisted thing. Whatever the case, when Sebastian had been made a vampire, he and his master had come for me. Sebastian had wanted me in his power, and they’d both wanted control of my magic. Fortunately, though, The Righteous had come to my aid. In order to save me, Michael had turned me into a vampire. I had become his lover, and later his wife. I don’t think Sebastian would ever forgive either one of us for that.
“What game are you playing at, boy?” Michael growled.
There was a soft gasp from the hallway behind me, and I turned to see a white-haired dowager flutter her fan and duck back through the door to her private box.
“Michael,” I said calmly, laying my hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to make a scene.”
“It’s not a game,” the warden said. “I was sent to bring the Devil’s Witch back to London.”
Michael laughed harshly. “Does Sebastian Montford not recall that I promised to kill him if I ever saw him again?”
“I am supposed to bring her, and her alone,” Warden Grady said.
Michael pulled the warden closer. “You go back to your Regent,” he said in a voice that sent shivers up my spine, “and you tell him that if he ever again tries to get to Cin, I will hunt him down and set him on fire.”
Michael released the warden with a shove and Grady staggered back. Righting himself, he straightened the collar of his shirt and tugged at his coat.
“So you won’t help me?” he asked.
“Help you?” Michael replied incredulously. “Help you put the woman I love in the hands of a man who tried to enslave her when she was human? I think not.”
Warden Grady clenched his jaw and a very firm look of resolve settled on his face. “I don’t know what history you have with the Regent,” he said, “and I don’t bloody well care.”
Michael raised his eyebrows and started to say something, but I laid my hand on his sleeve to still his invective.
When he realized that Michael wasn’t likely to grab him by the throat again, the warden stood taller, and continued. “I assure you that the threat to our city is very real. We’ve lost ten percent of the vampire population in just over three months. I did not travel all this way to reignite whatever feud you have with the regent. If that had been Sebastian’s intention, he would have sent someone else. I am not one of his lackeys. I am a deputy warden of the city of London, and the policing and security of our vampires is my responsibility. In point of fact, I have argued long and hard to call you to help with this problem, and I believe it proves just how reluctant Sebastian was to have you in his city that he waited this long to allow me to do so. If it had been entirely up to me, I would have tracked you down two months ago.”
“What’s happening in London?” I asked with concern. Ravenworth, my home when I’d been human, was only thirty miles from the city. As a human and a vampire, London had been like a second home to me.
Warden Grady looked at me grimly, and asked, “Have you heard of Jack the Ripper?”
TWO
Michael scoffed. “What does a human killer have to do with us?”
“The Ripper is not a human,” Grady replied. “He’s a demon.”
Cold dread washed over me at his words. “I hope you’re speaking metaphorically,” I said.
The warden shook his head. “I wish I were. We paid little attention to him when he was killing humans. As you said, a human murderer is none of our business. But eventually he tired of slaughtering humans and moved on to vampir
es. I can only assume it’s because we’re harder to kill.”
“Better sport,” Michael said grimly.
“Exactly,” Grady agreed. “The wardens have tracked him down on several occasions, but we’ve been unable to kill the bastard. We assumed that he was a vampire, but we once managed to stake him through the heart, and that only angered him. The last time we went up against him, the Chief Warden managed to take the Ripper’s head.”
“That certainly should have done it,” I said.
Supernatural creatures (vampires, werewolves, faeries) are susceptible to different things (sunlight, silver, cold iron), but beheading will kill anything. Correction: beheading should kill anything.
“That’s when we realized what we were up against. You see, at first we thought we were tracking a whole group of rogue vampires. It made sense because the human police have had such varying descriptions of the Ripper.” Grady paused, as if trying to collect his thoughts, and a faraway look crept into his eyes. When he continued, his voice was soft and gently laced with fear. “There were four of us that night. We had him surrounded and we all rushed him at once. Even so, I didn’t think we were going to be able to take him down. His strength was incredible. Then James got in a lucky blow and sliced the Ripper’s head right off his body. The body fell and … and an eerie blue light rose up out of it. The light, it rushed over James, surrounding him, and then it disappeared. We all stood still for several moments, unsure of what had just happened. And then James looked at us and his eyes were glowing red. He turned on us then. The only way I can describe it is that the Chief was no longer in control of his body. The demon was.”
“So the demon now inhabits the body of your Chief Warden?” I asked.
Grady shook his head. “We found James two weeks later, wandering the streets. Physically, he was unharmed, but he doesn’t remember anything that happened to him from the time he cut off the Ripper’s head until he woke in an alley in Whitechapel. I have no idea whose form the demon has taken now, but it seems to only be able to occupy dead bodies—those of humans who are already deceased, or vampires.”