“For Fenrir,” he whispered, then turned back to his ship.
The Dís snapped her fingers, and the image faded.
I looked up at her.
“Son of Skoll,” she said. “You see.”
“I do. But why is he here?”
“When one king’s reign ends, and a new reign begins, they will all test the mettle of the new ruler. The son of Skoll smells blood in the wind.”
“The changing of alpha,” I said.
She nodded. “He may be the first, but he will not be the last. Until the Lion shows his teeth, they will all come.”
“Wonderful. So I’m doing Lionheart’s dirty work.”
The Dís laughed. “And he hasn’t done yours?”
“True.” I rose.
“Did you forget my fee, Clemeny Louvel?” the Dís asked.
I smiled. “Of course not.”
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a small box and set it on the table before her.
“Belgian or French?”
“French, of course.”
She lifted the lid, revealing the chocolates inside. The fine quality confections had set me back a day’s wages, but you get what you pay for. And the Dís’s fee was always worth the price.
“Felice Louvel has taught you well,” she said as her fingers waggled over the chocolates. “Excellent taste.”
I smothered a frown. After Fenton, I didn’t want any of them to know anything about my grand-mère. But at least the Dís wasn’t dangerous.
“Thank you,” I told her, pushing in my chair.
She inclined her head to me then took a chocolate from the box. “Raspberry,” she said, looking it over.
“What, you can see inside the chocolates as well? Prophetic about the taste?” I asked with a grin.
She laughed. “No, you stupid girl, there is a key printed on the inside of the lid.”
I looked at the box. So there was. I laughed. “Enjoy.”
“I shall. Be careful when you are north of old Hadrian’s wall, Clemeny Louvel. The son of Skoll travels with his fylgja. But when you need them, remember that the old ones will always shelter those with the right blood. Those like you.”
I turned and looked back at her. “And just what is a fylgja?”
She chuckled. “You’ll figure it out.”
“Prophets. Always riddling,” I said with a grin.
“I’m no prophet. I am Dís,” she said with a laugh, her mouth full of chocolate.
Chuckling, I turned and headed outside.
Well, Zayde Skollson—and your fylgja, whatever that was—it was time for you to learn that this realm has teeth.
Chapter 5: The Graveyard Shift
The agency airship lifted off from the roof of headquarters, ferrying Agent Harper and me to Edinburgh.
“Three sightings,” Agent Harper said as she settled onto the bench beside me.
Chewing my candied ginger, which I really should have bought more of when I stopped at the confectionary, I willed my stomach not to pay attention to the way the airship gondola rocked in the breeze.
“There have probably been more, but, of course, no one wanted to talk to me. I bribed a few people. Is that okay?” Agent Harper asked. While it was an honest question, her green eyes smiled mischievously. Maybe she was more suited to field work than she thought.
I nodded. “File them on form 71-B for a reimbursement.”
“71-B? On the expenses sheet? Seriously?”
I nodded.
Agent Harper chuckled then turned back to her notes. “I suppose as long as I file my paperwork, Agent Hunter will be satisfied. All right, so there is a merchant vessel that ships Scotch between a distillery in the highlands and London. Your pirate airship has tried to catch them on two occasions. The airship is heavily armed but only got away by chance on both occasions. Once, due to a freak lightning storm, and the second time because the pirate ship retreated.”
“Retreated? That’s odd. All right, what else?”
“Now, the second story was from a pilot who runs transports. He’s a courier, quick trip chap, pilots an old racing airship. Of course, I don’t know if his tale is fact or fable, but he talked about the pirate airship like it was a ghost vessel. I don’t know. Maybe he just made up the story. It sounded too unbelieveable.”
“Well, we are talking about an airship full of werewolves. Could anything sound less believable?”
Agent Harper laughed. “You’re right. It was the bit about the ravens, I guess.”
“The ravens?”
She nodded. “The pirate said he was pretty high aloft when a flock of ravens suddenly surrounded his ship.”
“An unkindness.”
“Sorry?”
“A flock of ravens is called an unkindness or a conspiracy.”
“How do you know that?”
“Quinn,” I said with a smile, suddenly missing my old partner.
“All right. Well, an unkindness of ravens appeared. He also spotted the wolf masthead. I think it spooked them.”
“How did he get away?”
“Cut altitude and raced through a pass of rocks at sea level. He said he pushed the old racing ship to its limit, damaged the rudder in the process. They were at the repair tower.”
“Why would the pirate ship attack a courier? What was he carrying?”
“Yeah, he clammed up when I asked. He muttered something about the Earl of Derby, but wouldn’t divulge more.”
“I see. And the last ship?”
“Scottish craft. The crew was Shetlandic. From what I understood, they spotted the pirate airship near Fair Isle. They gave the ship a wide berth and escaped unscathed.”
“Fair Isle.”
“A tiny little isle in the Shetlands. Mostly uninhabited.”
“Sounds like a good place to hide out.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
“Well done, Agent Harper.”
She beamed a little. “Thank you, Clemeny. I was supposed to go on rotation next month with Cressida, but when I overheard some talk about assigning you a new partner, I jumped. I just… I hope I can do a good job.”
“So far, so good. No one’s dead yet, and we have a lead. Let’s see what they know at Shadow Watch, and we’ll go from there.”
“What about you? Any luck?”
“Some. I know the name of the man we’re hunting.”
Harper’s mouth dropped open a little before she caught herself. “What? How?”
“Well, we’ll get into the details of that later.”
“Okay, then who are we after?”
“His name is Zayde Skollson.”
Harper turned a page in her notebook and jotted the name down. “Norwegian,” she said as she tapped her pen on her journal. “Skollson… Son of Skoll. Wasn’t Skoll one of the Norse gods?”
“Apparently Skoll was a wolf.”
“Well, that makes sense.”
“You know your Norse gods?”
“A bit.”
“What’s a fylgja?”
“Fylgja? I have no idea. Why? Do you know what it is?”
I shook my head. “No, that’s why I was asking you. Whatever it is, it’s probably going to try to kill us, so if we can figure it out first, that will be helpful.”
Harper laughed. “Noted. I also sent along a runner. I’ve secured us rooms in Holyrood House Inn so we can get some rest tonight.”
“Ah,” I mused then grinned at her. “Agent Harper, I have some very bad news for you.”
“And that is?”
“Werewolf hunters rarely sleep. And we never sleep at night.”
“Oh,” Agent Harper said then looked off into the distance.
For the first time, I saw her enthusiasm for the job dim.
I chuckled. “But I suppose I can let you rest for a few hours. From here on out, it’s the graveyard shift.”
“All right.”
“Now, we may not sleep, but we do drink. After that terrible news, the f
irst round tonight is on me,” I said, giving her a gentle slap on the back.
My stomach, however, reminded me that I needed to get back on the ground first before I started thinking of putting anything in my stomach. I pulled the brown paper packet of sugared ginger from my pocket and popped another confection.
Well, one thing was sure, I was most definitely motivated to get this case over and done with. I had never been so nauseated in all my life.
Chapter 6: Meat and Potatoes
Much to my relief, the airship arrived in port just as my sugared ginger had taken me as far as they could go. I consented to let Agent Harper check us in at Holyrood House Inn where my stomach could get a few minutes rest before the night began.
Holyrood House Inn was an old Tudor-style building along the Royal Mile not far from the airship towers. All in all, the place was quiet enough and clean. The maid led us upstairs to two adjoining rooms. I took the one that overlooked the street. It was always good to have options for a getaway.
“I spotted a pub down the way. Horse something. Meet you there in two hours?” I asked Agent Harper as she headed into her own room.
“All right. We’re expected at Shadow Watch whenever we’re ready.”
I nodded but didn’t say anything more. The agency always wanted us to report in here or file a report there. Shadow Watch, the Scottish Division, probably wanted to know what, exactly, we were up to. Agent Greystock had always been good about letting Quinn and me roam wherever we needed. We got the job done. That was all that mattered, in the end. Agent Hunter had been on the job for a couple of months now. He was a stickler for formality and procedure, but aside from making me fill out lengthy reports—which were really part of the job anyway—he hadn’t gotten in my way.
I entered my room. Aside from the tidily made bed, the narrow room had a dressing table, chair, wardrobe, and washstand. At once, I extinguished the lamp. It was almost dark. It wouldn’t due to have anyone glancing this way. I checked the wardrobe—never hurt to be safe—then looked out the window.
Edinburgh, like London, was a busy hub. Everywhere I looked, I saw horses, carriages, autos, velocipedes, and steambikes. But what was on the ground hardly mattered. It was what was up in the sky that was the real problem.
My stomach reminded me then that going back into the clouds was the last thing it wanted.
I flopped down on the bed. Pulling out my small pocket watch, I looked at the time. It was nearly seven. I closed my eyes. Once more, Agent Hunter came to mind. I remembered his slight, honest smile. Reaching up, I pulled off the eyepatch covering my mooneye. My fingertips lightly touched the scar on my face. I had been pretty. But now? I sighed. I closed my eyes and pushed the dark thoughts away. It didn’t matter how sweetly Agent Hunter had smiled. I was an inferior at work and a werewolf hunter with a mangled face. At this rate, I was going to have a hard time attracting even the likes of Pastor Frank.
Shut it, Clemeny. There’s got to be someone out there for you.
Even Lionheart had someone. I swallowed the jealousy that wanted to wash up in me when I thought of Bryony Paxton. Hell, if I couldn’t even win a preternatural, was there any hope? I closed my eyes and willed myself not to think on it anymore. I needed to sleep. It was going to be a long night.
* * *
I dozed off long enough for my stomach to recover. I woke feeling hungry and thirsty. My meal that day had consisted primarily of ginger. I needed real food. Lots of it. Dreaming of Scotch pie and a pint, I washed my face and headed out. Lingering by Agent Harper’s door, I heard her snoring loudly inside.
I chuckled. Agent Harper, who was a very pretty girl—petite, red-haired, green-eyed—snored like a lumberjack. From the sounds of it, she could use a bit more rest. Planning to return in a couple of hours, I left her at the inn then made my way down the busy street to The White Horse Pub.
When I entered, a few people gave me and my red cape a sidelong glance, but no one said anything. I found a seat at the end of the bar where I could keep an eye on the door.
“What will you have, lass?” the bartender asked, his voice thick with a Scottish accent.
I turned to find myself face-to-face with a brown-haired, brown eyed, beauty. From his square jaw to his massive biceps, he was a sight to behold.
“Your best stout and a Scotch pie.”
The bartender inclined his head to me. “Of course,” he said then whistled at another attendant, made a hand gesture, and turned to the tap.
“What was that?” I asked.
“What was what?” he replied as he began pouring.
“This,” I said, replicating the move he’d made with his hands.
He chuckled then set my pint down in front of me. The black liquid had a soft, caramel-colored head. Perfect. “Well, you almost had it right. But the way you did it, you ordered extra potatoes on the side.”
“Extra potatoes?”
The bartender nodded. “Johannes is deaf. We have a system for handling the kitchen orders.”
“Oh. Well, maybe I wanted extra potatoes.”
He chuckled. “I’m Ronald,” he said, inclining his head to me.
“Clemeny.”
“I don’t remember seeing you here before, Clemeny.”
“That line sounds tired. Want to try a different one?”
Ronald laughed. “All right. Don’t see many Red Capes in here. Up from London?”
“That’s better. Yes, I am.”
“And what is it, exactly, you people do? Aren’t you some sort of constable?”
“Something like that.”
“Tough job?”
“At times,” I said, tapping my cheek below my eye patch.
“Just another day on the job? What happened, tangle with a bear?”
“Wolf, actually.”
“Sure,” he said then gave me a wink. “One moment,” he said then turned and went to the small window that looked back toward the kitchen. He waved to someone then made another motion with his hands. After, he returned once more.
I cocked an eyebrow at him.
He grinned. “Anyone who takes on a wolf for the greater good of the realm is certainly deserving of a side of potatoes. On the house,” he said with a grin, and then went to wait on another patron.
My stomach, which had been doing nauseated flips all days, turned once more. But this time, with a strange, excited hope. Not two hours ago I had given up hope of love forever. A brawny Scottish tapster would work just fine, thank you.
As I sipped my pint, I suddenly became aware of a strange tingling in the palms of my hands. Scanning the room, I spotted a tall man at the very back of the pub. He was talking to a pretty girl who appeared to be part of an airship crew. I eyed him carefully, letting all my senses come to me.
Not a wolf.
But not a human either.
The man smiled at the girl, but he quickly passed me a look.
He had strange eyes. Even from this distance, I saw how they sparkled. They were not the mirrored silver of a vampire’s eyes. Nor were they the red of a werewolf. Too tall to be a goblin. Too well-built to be a ghoul.
The man excused himself from his pretty female companion for a moment and went to the bar at the other end of the pub. He spoke to Ronald, and a moment later, the tapster handed him two glasses of Scotch. To my surprise, the man crossed the room and came to stand in front of me. He set the drink down on the bar before me.
“Er ye lookin’ fer me?” He had a deep, thick accent and something about the way he rolled his words told me that whomever he was, he’d been around for a very long time. He eyed me warily. It suddenly occurred to me that he was deciding whether or not to murder me right then and there.
“Not unless you’re a werewolf.”
He chuckled. “Then we should be at peace. I dinna come fer trouble, Agent. Just fer a drink.”
“Same,” I said then lifted the Scotch. “I’m hunting flying werewolves. Any chance you’ve seen any?”
“Hmm,
” the man said rubbing his chin. “Air is nary my element. But if I see any swimmin’, I’ll let ye know.”
I smirked. He was a kelpie. That explained the eyes. “Bit landlocked, aren’t you?”
“Not t’all,” he said then lifted his drink. “I’ll be swimmin’ soon enough.”
I laughed then inclined my head to him.
He nodded then clicked his glass against mine. We both drank. But as I did so, I felt someone else’s gaze on me. The girl the kelpie had been talking to was glaring daggers at me.
“I think you better swim back across the pub. Your sweetheart is getting the wrong idea. I assume you have no intentions of pulling her under.”
“Ne’er. Only und’r the sheets,” he said with a laugh.
I laughed. “Very well. Carry on. And who am I thanking for this drink?”
He inclined his head to me. “Eideard.”
“Thank you, Eideard. It’s was a mighty fine Scotch. I’m Agent Louvel.”
“Well met,” he said then inclined his head to me.
Looking around him, I waved at the girl who glared at me.
Eideard gave me a smile then headed back across the pub to the girl who had gone into a full pout. Her arms crossed, her gaze moody and distant, I marveled at her ability to so deftly shame a man while also looking stunningly beautiful. Maybe the reason I still didn’t have a beau was because I was decidedly unskilled in the art of the hunt. Werewolves? No problem. An eligible bachelor? Not so much.
Speaking of.
“Here you are,” Ronald said when he returned with my plate. The Scotch pie was sided by a massive heap of potatoes, and the entire meal was slathered in rich beef gravy.
“Heaven on a plate.”
“You haven’t even tasted it yet. How do you know?”
“I can just tell,” I said with a grin.
Ronald chuckled. “Nice to see a lady with an appetite,” he said with a smile, and then turned to wait on another patron.
My utensil heaped with a massive bite of potatoes and gravy, I paused. Wasn’t it Lord Byron who said that watching a lady eat was vulgar? Or was it Percy Shelley who’d said that? Twats both. I remembered thinking that comment the stupidest thing I’d ever heard. I looked at the potatoes. Okay, maybe I wasn’t as refined as Grand-mère might hope, but I was hungry. And I was on the job.
Alphas and Airships Page 3