"And how did you come by this information?" I asked as he scrutinized the map.
"I cannot divulge my sources." Fenwick's voice shook.
"Really?" I caressed the barrel of the pistol while eyeing him pointedly.
"All right." The demon threw up his hands. "It was the ghoul, Lemrick. The one you killed in the alley."
Convenient. No possible way to question a dead ghoul, not even with a séance.
"Hey. Wait a minute. How did you know I killed him?" Suddenly, I knew the answer. "You were watching us before you hid in here, weren't you?"
"I admit my cowardice," Fenwick cried holding his hands in front of his face defensively.
More likely trying to see if he could pick off any of the loser's property. I shook my head. "And what did this ghoul want in exchange for this information?"
"Lemrick demanded a human," Fenwick replied.
My eyes darted to Cam whose expression had darkened, his blue eyes glinted and his mouth compressed in a tight line.
"Why did he want a human?" I asked thinking of how the ghoul had seemed intent on using the crystal and had even turned away from his fight with me to do it.
"I thought he just wanted a good meal," Fenwick said calmly.
"You little bastard," Cam yelled and charged at the demon brandishing my silver dagger.
I grabbed him around the waist, halting him before he could do any damage. "I can't let you kill him." My voice was a furious whisper. "We need him."
After a few seconds, he stopped straining against my hold. Shaking me off, he spun on his heel and then paced to the front window to gaze out onto the street.
"Show us where this factory is." Turning to glance over my shoulder to include Driscoll, I crossed to the counter to scrutinize the map. My superior officer was no longer behind me. Where was he? "Driscoll?"
He peeked out from behind the backroom drape and when he'd surveyed the room—probably seeing the budding fight had been averted—he stepped out with a swagger. "Just checking out a noise."
With a disgusted sigh, I motioned him over. Fenwick pointed to the map in the general area of Southwark.
"Where exactly is the factory?" I lacked further patience with Fenwick's hedging. "I want the address."
"Father," Cam suddenly burst out with happy excitement.
"Your father?" Fenwick asked, peering out at him over his long pointy nose.
"He's coming this way." Cam's face lit with a smile.
Rising to my feet, I joined the young man at the window. Outside, a cloaked figure on the opposite side of the road paused and glanced from side to side before commencing to cross. The hood shrouded his features from view, but the figure did seem male by the way it moved. Yet there was something distinctly odd. I couldn't quite put my finger on it.
"How do you know it's your father?" I asked.
"I recognize the braiding on his cloak." Cam rushed to the front door.
The trepidation I felt nagged me again. "Wait," I yelled.
He threw back the bolt lock and twisted the knob.
"What's happening?" Driscoll inched forward before edging back toward the safety of the storage room.
Cam opened the front door and yelled, "Father."
The figure passed under a street lamp and the movement and fluttering under the cloak became visible, casting a misshapen shadow. But then I realized what was so odd about the figure. Although giving the illusion of walking, the figure had no feet.
"That's not your father," I screamed. "That's an Amalgam."
Chapter Three
"Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness."
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
The instant the door opened, the cloak fell back revealing a "man" made entirely of shiny black feathers. But this impression was of the briefest duration before the parts of the man scattered and ravens—a flock of at least one hundred—dove with purpose toward the shop.
My legs seemed stuck in quicksand as I moved toward the door, grabbed its frame and began to push it shut. The ravens swarmed through the narrowing entrance, the flapping of their wings, clicking of their beaks and shrieking caws a cacophony of sound assaulting my ears. As if in an organized dance, the birds broke into four groups, one squadron for each of us.
Cam dropped to a crouch covering his head with his hands as the birds struck at him. Driscoll ran screaming into the back room and the sounds of smashing glass and thuds were all that emerged. Fenwick fended off his attackers with spitballs that emerged from his mouth as saliva and then sparked to flame before striking a bird. Fenwick edged toward the fireplace where he hopped into the middle of the hearth's blazing fire and scrambled up the chimney.
I struck at my ravens with my hands and knocked one away preventing it from taking out my eye with its sharp beak. In the front window was perched a cricket bat. Grabbing it, I used the bat on the birds as if they were balls. Striking one black bird with a hook I could probably have scored a run except for the next bird flying toward me.
The caws and clicking of the ravens coalesced into a staccato pattern and the rhythm created words. "He. Sees. You." Then the words turned to a chant."He sees you. He sees you."
Four or five birds attacked the pocket of my coat, tearing at the fabric and rending the seams. That was the pocket where I'd placed the crystal. Plunging one hand toward my pocket as I swatted with the bat with the other, I reached for the crystal. The ravens viciously pecked my hand. The pocket gave way and the crystal fell to the floor. As it skidded along the wood, I scrambled after it. My fingers touched the edge just as a raven darted in and scooped the rock into his beak. The raven gurgled a triumphant laughing caw. It spread its wings and my grab for the bird resulted in only a handful of air as the beast escaped into the night through the still open door. Gleeful bird screeching echoed through the shop and the ravens regrouped into one throng and then streamed out after their leader.
In the quiet aftermath, only the sound of our labored breathing was heard. No sign of Fenwick. He'd escaped through the chimney and clearly wasn't in a hurry to return. That meant we'd get no more details from him about the precise location of Gethin's factory.
"Lieutenant Driscoll," I called. "Are you injured?"
In response the clatter of falling boxes and then, "I'm all right."
Cam unfolded from a crouching position and slowly rose. He shook himself off. Eyes widening, he ran out the door. "Father," he screamed as he reached the crumpled cloak lying in the street. He kneeled and with a ginger touch picked up the garment and buried his face in it.
I followed him outside and came to a halt at his side.
Cam lifted his head and peered up at me. "It's his. I knew it. They've taken him."
"You don't know that," I said but I knew from my experience that he was right.
Cam buried his face in the cloak again.
"Come," I urged with a gentle tone. "We'll go to your lodging. Maybe your father returned there."
He didn't move.
Driscoll strolled outside dusting himself off. "We need to get back to base and report what's happened to the general." He shook his head. "She's not going to like it."
As Cam continued to kneel in the street, I had the urge to take him in my arms and rock him like a child. I don't really care about him, I assured myself. This feeling was merely the after effects of the connection to his blood. Besides, comforting him wouldn't serve either of us. He couldn't be allowed to wallow in his loss. Eradicating all weakness was the only way to survive.
"Get up, Private," I commanded. "Shake it off, soldier." Harsh treatment was necessary. We weren't getting anywhere sitting here while he succumbed to trauma.
"Leave the kid alone," Driscoll said. "You don't have to be such a heartless bitch, Amy."
I rounded on Driscoll and shouted into his face. "That's Corporal Bitch to you, sir."
"You obviously don't know what it's like to love your father." Driscoll sneered with an angry glint in his eyes. He knew he'd
gotten to me and he pressed his advantage.
I stared at him for a few seconds. "You're right. I don't know what Cam's feeling." Turning away, I took a few steps and then paused. "I didn't love my father." I tossed the words over my shoulder. "I killed him."
* * * * *
We'd traveled little more than three blocks before I realized someone or something was following us. Cam in his grief and Driscoll, limping along complaining about battle wounds, both seemed oblivious to the danger. Coming to a halt, I tried to listen for a moment to determine the precise location of the stalker. Just ahead of me Driscoll and Cam each stopped. Driscoll turned back to me.
"Hurry up, would you Amy," Driscoll snapped. "I want to get ice on this ankle before it swells any further."
"I'm going back for something I forgot at Fenwick's shop," I announced loudly enough for anyone interested to hear me. "Go on without me. I'll catch up."
Satisfied, Driscoll continued forward still muttering complaints. Cam, his head hanging and still clutching his father's cloak, trudged after him. I dashed in the opposite direction. Would the stalker elect to come after me? If there were only one he'd have to make a choice. If there was more than one I'd just left myself, not to mention Driscoll and Cam, much more vulnerable.
After doubling back a block I darted down an alley before coming to an immediate halt just around its corner. I peeked around the brick wall of the building back in the direction from which I'd come.
Nothing at all moved in the street. But then something caught my eye. Glancing up, I saw a dark figure standing with ominous stillness across the street and atop a building on the corner of the next block. Was the figure staring down at the location just ahead of where I'd left Driscoll and Cam?
Across from my alley hiding place was a pub I recognized as one of the most notorious destinations in London: The Bloody Lion's Head. I'd been in it on several occasions. I wasn't proud of those occasions but at least my past experience would allow me to know my way around the building even if it was filled with every conceivable sinister type.
Keeping one eye on the rooftop figure, I bolted across the street. Although the figure hadn't moved, he might attack Driscoll and Cam at any moment.
I flung open the door of the pub and hurried into the narrow foyer and came face-to-face with the "doorman" guarding the entrance: a statue of a man dressed in butler's garb holding a silver tray with the lifeless head of a lion—complete with blood leaking from where it had been severed—sitting on top. The faint, familiar and tempting smell of burning opiates wafted to me from up the stairs to my right. Beyond, in the pub common room, was a crowd of patrons. Everyone not on the streets seemed to be here. Before I could recognize anyone in particular, the doorman statue animated.
"Greetings," the statue spoke, lips moving with slightly more fluidity than a stone but much less than flesh. "State your business here."
"Debauchery," I said, pulling out the only password I remembered.
The lion's head reared up, its mouth opening to exhibit long and sharp teeth as it roared its disapproval of my answer. The head struck forward, towards me, chomping. I leaped away, barely eluding its teeth, and crashed into the now closed entry door. With nowhere to go I prepared to feel those teeth slicing into my flesh as the head reared back preparing to strike again.
"It's all right, Linus," a welcome voice said as a male strolled up, beer in hand. The voice belonged to Reggie, the owner of this fine establishment. "You can relax. She's my guest."
The lion subsided and settled back upon the tray. Puffing and growling before going still and quiet.
"Very good, sir," the doorman statue intoned. After a brief bow, with a crackling noise, the statue solidified completely.
"Hello, Amy," Reggie drawled as he stepped forward. Eyes glowing in a leer, he carefully removed my hood, pushing it back from my face and settling it at my shoulders. "It's been a long time."
"Almost too long." I inclined my head at his lion's head statue now quietly at rest again on the platter.
"You're welcome here anytime." Reggie smirked as he leaned forward and sniffed my hair. "You only need ask and I would happily tell you all my secrets."
"I doubt that."
As operator of probably the only place where human and paranormal patrons coexisted in relative peace—a place of enforced neutrality—he was more than a bit dodgy. He had many secrets I would like to know. Not that I'd trust him to tell me the truth about any of them. For instance, why was he still allowed to operate? Why hadn't the prince closed the pub down by now? No doubt Reggie was playing all the angles.
A laugh barked out. "True, I couldn't tell you everything but I would tell you the password for this place at least. This month it's mayhem."
"Good to know."
After grasping my arm he pulled me into the heart of the pub. "I've missed you, beautiful Amy."
Unusual looking maybe, but I didn't have any illusions about beauty. Nevertheless, Reggie had been trying without success to get into my knickers since the bad old days. He'd try any lame line.
"Get stuffed, Reg." Anger made me tug my arm from his. Even though I required his help, or at least his permission, I couldn't be diplomatic because of the tension playing along my skin like fire ants. What was the dark figure doing? Would I reach him in time? "Knock off that flattering crap."
He chuckled before taking my arm and leading me to the bar. "Okay. No more...even if it is the truth. You know I've been in love with you since we first met."
Brilliant. He seemed serious.
"Reg—"
His expression transformed, once again, into an insincere leer.
"What'll it be tonight? Sex, drugs or Guinness?" Reg leaned in and whispered suggestively in my ear, "Or perhaps all three?"
"I'd like to get up to your roof."
"Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr." His hot breath on my ear made me want to gag. "Is that a sexual position I haven't heard of?"
"Eww," I exclaimed. "No. The roof of this building."
"Whatever kinks your coil," he continued, stroking my hand in a circular pattern with his index finger. "But are you certain I couldn't interest you in some excellent juice of the poppy?"
Once upon a time the temptation would have overwhelmed me. In the days before I'd joined the Resistance I'd done a lot of self-medicating. Now, I'd even given up smoking. So I felt only a twinge of longing to lose myself in the oblivion he offered. I swallowed hard before answering.
"I don't do that anymore."
"Pity," he drawled. "We could have so much fun if you did."
"The roof." I drew the pistol I'd confiscated from Driscoll out of the back waistband of my pants.
Reggie hissed, jumping back and then taking an aggressive stance. "You're aware my guards could be on you in a second. Even before you fire that thing."
True to his word, the guards, five gorillas—who I assumed were shape shifters in a gorilla form— had separated themselves from their stations and surrounded me on three sides. The bar trapped me on the fourth.
I smiled seductively and simpered up at him. "I don't want to use this on you, my friend. The gun is for my urgent business on your roof."
He still eyed me doubtfully.
"Really, Reg," I assured him trying to inject sincerity. "Do you think I'd ever want to mar your handsome face with a bullet?"
Maybe I was laying it on a little too thick. But still he seemed to be buying it because a smile spread across his face. He waved all but one of the gorillas back.
"Take the lady to the roof," Reggie ordered the one of them.
As I made to follow the enormous furry beast, the smarmy beast—Reg—put a hand on my arm to stop me.
"Next time, my beautiful Amy. You won't get by me with just pretty words and unspoken promises."
"Yeah. Next time. I'll be ready for you."
He released his hold on me, seeming to take my words as a good kind of promise although that wasn't necessarily how I meant it.
* * * *
*
Keeping to the staircase and avoiding the brothel and opium den portions of the premises, my gorilla and I finally made it to the roof. The security ape pushed me through a door at the top before slamming, and locking, it behind me.
I gazed out over the expanse of the flat tops of the buildings and spotted the dark figure right where he'd been when I'd entered the pub. A kind of nervous relief filled me. The relief quickly turned to worry. This figure could be a building gargoyle and not the stalker. Perhaps I'd been on some kind of wild ghost chase.
Only one way to find out. Springing forward I ran and leaped the small distance between each building until I reached the fourth and final rooftop.
"That time may cease, and midnight never come." The dark figure, still staring down, spoke in a baritone voice laced with a slight edge of amusement.
His words brought me to an abrupt halt a few meters away. Raising my arm, I pointed the pistol at his center of mass and inched forward. "Turn around and put your hands where I can see them."
Arms going up, the dark figure slowly twisted to face me. The cloud cover parted. For the briefest of seconds, in the dim moonlight, I had the impression of sharp features: gleaming eyes, aquiline nose, angular cheekbones and a sly smile.
"For a thousand eternities have I awaited thee," he muttered.
What was he saying? Never mind, I told myself. Only securing him mattered.
"On your knees." My command pierced the night air.
The clouds shifted again and covered him in shadow. Before I could move, the dark figure calmly took one step back, dropping off the edge of the building.
Chapter Four
"Invincibility lies in the defense; the possibility of victory in the attack."
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
After a few stumbling steps, I made rapid strides to the spot where the dark figure had disappeared. With care I poked my head over the side to take a quick glance down, half expecting the figure to be hovering just below the roofline and ready to attack. Instead, I observed him careening down the steps of a fire escape, the metal jangling under his heavy footfalls.
Resistance (A Paranormal Romantic Suspense) (Dark Realm Series) Page 3