"We're just two old girls having a chat, aren't we? Your oath is as dead as we are. Congrats, by the way, on the freedom. Welcome to the club and all that. Nice to have the power without the leash, isn't it?"
"I have not abandoned my order."
She sighed heavily. "No, you haven't. I mean, obviously, right? You let them know you're not a team player anymore and they'd stake you just as fast as they'd stake me. Wouldn't even be able to think about it, or talk it out, would they? Just—boom—straight to the heart! Poor puppets."
I thought of Roisin's claws, barely missing my heart.
"Don't pretend you understand us."
I took a slow step forward, letting my fingers form into claws lazily, luxuriating in my control. Warning her that while I could attack at any moment, that I would not be baited into a fight on her schedule. I would destroy her when I was good and ready. But first, I needed to know what had happened to DeShawn.
"Oooh, a threat. I enjoy it when your kind are feisty, Magdalene, but that isn't what I'm here for. You and I didn't get a proper chance to talk in the park."
"Talk? You murdered three of us. Not the usual way to initiate conversation."
"Piddle." She waved my concerns off with a brush of her hand. "You're letting your time spent shackled to humanity color your instincts. Nothing about us should be forced to conform to human norms. We do not bend for them anymore than they bend for the beef they slaughter."
"We? Not all of us view ourselves as inherently counter to humanity."
"Ahh, yes, the sunstrider oath of loyalty. Protection of humanity against the things that go bump in the night and all of that. But how does that hold up, when you become the monster lurking under the bed?"
"I am no such thing," I snapped off the words—wrong move.
She smiled, leaning back with her hands on her knees. No claws. No teeth. As far as she was concerned, we were two old pals having a chat. A thin line of strain ran between her brows, but that was all the effort show showed. Her control chilled me. As far as I knew, only the ancient, or oath-broken like me, were strong enough to resist the urge to slaughter sunstriders. Maybe it was the lack of my oath alone, but I doubted it. Lorena was no weakling.
"Defensive, Magdalene. I can't really blame you, though, it must be exhausting living in that head of yours right now. You can hear her, can't you? She sings such sweet songs of power. It's good, isn't it? You used Luna's strength in the park. Don't deny it. I can scent my own kind as easily as you can."
"Why are you here?"
"Dodging the question then, hmm? Oh well. We'll have that chat sooner or later, won't we? But I'm here for something else, it's true. You and I—we can bargain in a way I can't with the others of your order. I want a truce while I bring all the youngling nightwalkers and ghouls bashing up London under control. I've no idea what Ragnar was thinking while he was here, but he left quite a mess. It's unseemly."
"You want us to sit on our hands while you consolidate power?" I snorted. "That will never happen, you must realize that."
"I don't see why not? I alone can take their minds in hand and calm them. I can stop the rampaging, the riots, the random bursts of violence on otherwise peaceful human streets. I'm not Ragnar, dear, though I realize you think we're all the same. I'm not as flashy. I like to keep my people to myself, and while I abhor making a contract with humanity, I understand the importance of the veil." She licked her lips, gaze flicking to the corner of the room. "And The Accord. We're not ignorant of the pacts your people have made, and The Accord, at least, suits us just fine."
"It's hunting your people, isn't it?" I asked, following her gaze to the corner where a shadow obscured one of DeShawn's houseplants. "The being in the shadows. It's come for some of you."
She rolled her eyes as if an ancient, malignant intelligence hunting her through the dark was as annoying as getting a takeout order wrong.
"Don't tell me you haven't felt it too. That... thing... runs parallel to Luna's arts. I glimpse it, sometimes, when working deeper powers. It doesn't understand this world, you know. It's not aware of what it is to be immortal or mortal or anything in between. I don't even think it understands time. Or matter. It takes what it wants to figure what this world that's sprung up next to it is."
Now that was information we didn't have. I shrugged, as if I'd known such things all along. "There are too many of us, thanks to your predecessor. It senses the presence of too much of the supernatural in this world and wakes to investigate. Your numbers must be culled, not coddled."
"Or we could destroy what's left of your dying order and be done with it all." Lenora's smile was pleasant, the type expression a grandmother might wear while offering you a fresh-baked cookie. "I'm offering you a temporary truce so that it doesn't come to that."
"Please. You cannot value Ragnar's ghouls and cast-off nightwalkers so much. They're not your blood. They're disposable to you."
She sneered, her expression changing in an instant as she flashed her fangs at me. "You understand me not at all, Magdalene Shelley. We are not crabs in a bucket pulling each other down so that we can mount the top alone. The children he left behind must be gathered, soothed, and trained, lest they tear this world apart. I can do that, if you give me the space I require."
"Or we can erase them from this world and restore the balance."
She shook her head sadly. "And which one of us is the creature controlled by bloodlust and impulse, hmm?"
I swallowed. The order said all nightwalkers must die, and that included ghouls that could not be detoxed, for the safety of humanity. I'd stuck to that ideal my entire unlife.
But when the flame had burned red, I had not killed Lucien.
"What then?" I asked. "Once you have your hive under your thumb, your soldiers entrenched, what's next for the nightwalkers of London? Even with Ragnar at the head of his order I saw more chaos on these streets caused by so-called controlled nightwalkers. Your prey is humanity. Mortals will die where you reside."
"Yes. We are predators, Magdalene Shelley. We."
"I am not like you. Neither are my kin. We have rules. We care."
"You have rules because they were thrust upon you. We have our own histories, you know. We remember the dividing of our species. Our greatest tragedy." She looked down to her hands as she folded them into her lap.
"Do this for me. Hold back your warriors, let me gather the lost, and maybe our people can work together again someday."
"Even if I believed you wouldn't use the opportunity to entrench yourself and begin slaughtering mortals, I would not help you."
"Why?" She met my gaze, eyes blazing silver, a wrinkle of frustration creasing her forehead.
"This is not our world, is it?"
I didn't know what I was going to say until the words started spilling out. Some part of me had thought I'd have a rebuke for her, for her kind—a defense of the importance of protecting humanity and keeping the balance between our species. Instead, I spoke a truth I hadn't even realized I knew.
"We don't belong here, Lenora. As much as we've made it our home we're a corruption of what this world was made for. Better, I think, for our numbers to lessen and die out, lest we draw the attention of greater beings to such a fragile plane of existence."
"Interesting," she said, tilting her head to the side as she considered. "But I cannot agree. We are here, no matter how or why, and we must make this place a home. A haven for both of our species."
"Your people cannot be trusted to steward this world."
"Ahh, and yours can, because of the oath." She sighed heavily. "I had hoped it would not come to this, Magdalene. I had hoped we could be friends. Or, at the very least, allies in purpose. The turning of Lucien gave me that hope, you know.
"Oh yes—I know all about him. Ragnar was proud of that coup, though myself and many other nightwalkers thought it a foolish thing to kick at the beehive of the Sun Guard. Now I see his purpose. Erode the barrier, show the strongest members of the guard th
at nightwalkers aren't so different. Sentimental of him, to think love could bridge a gap of thousands of years."
She stood, smooth as calm water, her robes whispering as the silk brushed against itself and fell around her waist and hips in gentle eddies. Something about this woman was so... serene. So poised, despite her cheeky talk. Her age, I thought. Once you've outlived a few generations of humanity, it was hard to let anything ruffle you. Though she was shorter than me, she filled the room with her presence, and somehow looked me in the eye without having to look up.
"You and I, Magdalene, we're about the same age, I believe. Ragnar got a little muddied in the head. It happens, when the passage of years loses meaning, but I haven't. He was almost successful in bringing you to us with the turning of Lucien. You lack another lover, but I haven't survived centuries without improvising."
"Where is DeShawn?" I demanded.
She smiled, turning her attention to Mr. Pips, who bristled and let out a low growl.
"Tucked away for safekeeping. If you will not end this senseless slaughter of the nightwalkers, then I will make you kill those you love."
Her calm and curious demeanor washed away in an instant, shadows carving gaunt hollows into her round cheeks as she narrowed her eyes, nose scrunching as her jaw jutted forward, fangs extended. Mr. Pips hissed.
I lunged, but she dissolved into silvery mist, leaving behind the scent of violets and a knot of worry in my chest.
Twenty: Use the Cat
How to track a mortal? Their individual scents were not strong, and they blended together so easily when gathered in large numbers. There was no way I'd be able to follow DeShawn's trail from the apartment to wherever he'd gone. I'd lose him as soon as I reached the lift.
Lucien could find Lenora, but the time I took in finding him would be too long, and there was no guarantee that Lenora herself would be near DeShawn. I pushed the thought down. He couldn't help.
Seamus had said that humans were practically surgically attached to their phones. I grabbed my phone from my jacket pocket and hit the contact icon for DeShawn, pacing a tight, anxious circle through his living room while it rang, and rang, and rang...
"Mags?" DeShawn said. "Little busy right now. What's up?"
"Where are you?" I demanded.
"Whoa. Uh, me and the squad are checking out this cave system. Got a tip that Ragnar might have stashed some stuff down here, so we came to check it out. All data is useful, you know?"
"Where? Where is the cave?"
"London, obviously, I didn't go on a day-jaunt to the continent for this."
"Where exactly?"
"The entrance isn't far from that park we hit last night. Listen, Mags, I gotta go."
"You were lured there. You're being hunted. Get out now."
A pause. "You're serious?"
"Yes, for fuck's sake."
"Easy, Jesus, I—what?" A muffled voice called out to DeShawn. I couldn't make out the words, but I recognized the voice as Roland's. At least he had one of the best members of his team with him.
"DeShawn?"
"Huh? Yeah, look, there's—"
Shouts rang out, followed by the deadly crack of gunfire. DeShawn swore once, loudly. Wind hissed in the speaker as his phone fell and cracked and—silence.
"Fuck," I said into the phone, tempted to throw it, but restrained myself just in time. I knew approximately where he was. Seamus, I was certain, could get the rest of the way there. I hit his contact button. He picked up instantly.
"Hey-o," he said, chipper.
"DeShawn is in mortal peril and I need you to find his phone."
A squeak and a crash as Seamus pushed his chair back and knocked something over. "What? OH. Oh shit. Okay, hold on. Lemme just..."
The line crackled as he switched it over to speaker phone and set it on his desktop.
"Trying to do a trace now, it's spinning, hold on, god damn government tech..."
"What's going on?" Maeve demanded from somewhere in the room.
"Lenora lured DeShawn into a trap. I need to find him. Now," I said.
"Stupid man..." Maeve trailed off, muttering to herself. I clenched my jaw and tried not to scream in frustration.
"The trace keeps timing out," Seamus said, unable to hide his own frustration. "Do you know where he might be?"
"He said a cave system near the park we hit last night. I just talked to him."
"Oh," Seamus said.
"What?"
"Underground is kinda a problem. I don't know how you got through, he must have been closer to the surface when you called but he's too deep now."
"Too deep? I can call you from the fucking basement—"
"—It doesn't really work like—"
"Save the lesson for later, kid," Maeve said. I could hear the jingle of her bracelets as she swatted at him. "Where are you, Magdalene?"
"The flat."
"Got the cat?"
"The... You mean Mr. Pips?"
I stopped pacing circles long enough to look at the cat, still perched on the counter. He snarfed between his toes.
"Yes?"
"Good, good. The cat will show you the way."
"What?"
Maeve sighed. "Is the animal aware that its master is in danger?"
"I... I have no idea, Maeve. He's a cat. He's licking his paw. I don't see how he's going to help right now."
"Don't be daft, dear. You know better than mortals that cats aren't quite... in this world. They have instincts that extend beyond catching mice and taking naps, and you're going to have to ask him for help."
"You want me to ask the cat for help."
"I don't see that you have a choice. Seamus will call you back if he finds anything. You'd better get to work. Use the cat."
Her nail clicked against the side of the phone before the line went dead.
I stared at Mr. Pips. He stared past me and blinked his golden-yellow eyes.
"What the fuck," I said again, realized I was still holding the phone and tucked it back into my pocket. Hesitantly, I took a step toward the cat. He tilted his head.
"Uh, Mr. Pips," I said, feeling like the biggest idiot on the planet. "I need you to help me find DeShawn. He's in danger, and I need to reach him quickly. Can you... help?"
"Mrow," the cat said.
"Right. Okay. Maybe that's a yes. Who the hell knows?"
Mr. Pips blinked at me again.
I clenched my jaw and, carefully, scooped him up in one hand, then tucked him into the snug interior of my borrowed motorcycle jacket. He squirmed a little, then settled in and got to the important cat business of purring.
"Sorry I'm not warm," I said. "So how does this work?"
"Mrow."
"Right. Sure. Clear as daylight."
I closed my eyes, counted to ten, then opened them again when I'd centered myself. There was a slight presence emitting from Mr. Pips, though if I'd been asked to define it, I would have described it as the presence of being alive, and no more. But Maeve had been so sure... Hesitation wouldn't get me anywhere. I grabbed my keys and sprinted toward the lift, Mr. Pips bouncing against my chest as he purred and purred.
Twenty-one: Twisting Paths
It didn't feel right getting on the bike with Mr. Pips. I felt like I should have some sort of extra protection for him, like a kitty vest or a carrier or something, but the cat seemed calm enough as I revved the engine and tore out into the street. He was doing a pretty good job of staying in place as I leaned through turns, racing us toward the park at speeds too fast for any human to handle safely.
Come on, I willed the cat or Seamus or the universe at large, my stomach twisting itself into knots as I craned my head forward, hoping for a sniff of DeShawn on the air but all I could scent out was the generic, sun-warm scent of mortal blood mixed with the rot of the ghouls who lived in the park.
I skirted around the edge of the park, where grand houses tucked in neat rows faced the infested woodland. I didn't see how a cave system could be hidd
en here, and every second that ticked by my heart sped up with anxiety.
"Mrow," Mr. Pips said from inside the jacket.
I slowed the bike. Cutting into the woods was a narrow access lane—a thin ribbon of packed dirt—that I'd nearly missed in my haste.
"Good kitty."
I turned down the lane, easing back on the speed though it pained me to do so. Winter-bare trees reached their branches overhead like they were trying to gather me, and the whole road, into their arms. The dirt was scuffed by other tire tracks, and on the left I could just make out the back fender of DeShawn's official vehicle. Either his team had walked into the park, or it was only large enough to fit inside that car, because I didn't see a single other vehicle. I hoped they'd walked in, and that he had a practical army down beneath my feet.
I parked next to his car and swung off, searching the brush until I found an old steel access door left ajar. Yellow light from salt lamps tinted the ground gold, the subtle hum of electricity in the air. Somewhere, a generator chugged away.
"Stay with the car," I told Mr. Pips and reached into my jacket to pull him out.
He hissed and dug his claws into my abdomen, clinging.
I winced. "All right then, you furry little monster. But you stay in the jacket, understood?"
"Mrow."
I didn't trust him any more than I'd trusted Lenora. Which was... a strange thing for me to think. I was going as mad as Maeve. I tugged off my helmet and drew the mortuary blade I kept strapped to the side of my bike like a cavalry weapon of old.
"Seamus?" I said into the earpiece I'd put back in.
"Here," he said.
"Found him. Park, west access road. I'm going in."
"I've had a team tracking you since you left the garage. They'll be with you in two minutes."
"Good man," I said.
Maybe, if we were very lucky, we'd get ahead of Lenora this time. She'd played her hand too soon, baiting me with turning DeShawn before she actually had him. Maybe she hadn't wanted to spring the trap until she was sure I'd refuse her offer—but that slight hope would bite her in the ass. I'd make sure of it.
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